Friday, February 17, 2017

9192. MAKE IT OVER

MAKE IT OVER
The bridge rides the crest where
the train rides the bridge and they
all go well together. There's a light
in the sky, not pronounced, but still
colored. A mere tint of this or that
odd hue. Beneath the palm of some
water, moss spreads where the 
swamp festers. I look up to see
the heights; above me things
fall into space.

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