CARRY MY MAD FENCES HOME
Swearing fealty to others in line for the same
is really no big deal : sparrows fly in flocks, starlings
sweep along as one. Here, where the river bends
its capillaries beneath the highway bridge, I listen
to no one and reply to no man's command. Up above
my head, a few specious trucks drone on, a car
or two speed by. I hear the horn or the brakes
the trucks makes : noises in search of origin,
freight on its way to nowhere.
-
Annoyingly, a Winter's wind still speeds the rushes;
brown tipped grasses, bent and broken, now try
seeding the river's edge. Like some Thanksgiving
prayer of praise or grace - now long forgotten -
no one cares and nothing listens. Things will take
where they may. In another three months, a new
profusion of everything will cover this entire spot.
No comments:
Post a Comment