9989. WHERE WE ARE AN OPEN DOOR

WHERE WE ARE 

AN OPEN DOOR

When the wind blows coolest, the wind

blows most quiet. The harm-quest of the

Spring Azalea, over, brings only the Winter's

dread of Rhododendron, closed in and buckled

from the icy cold. As for everything else, all

things are accounted. At 5:45 in the morning,

a dread-light so early but not yet attired, the

only things I see, truthfully, are these little

Princeton Linden Street windows where

computer screens light up the dark. Old

men groan, while their wives roll over.