Sunday, December 2, 2012

Poem about This #3 (You Are Now Here)

The first morning of December
Opened freakishly warm. The sun
Rose cowled in a fine gauze veil
That shone the strange light of eclipse.

Glass broke, sand blew, things fell over,
Moving from morning to rock fins
Dividing the moments in air.
There is no beginning or end,

Only the middle and nothing
All the way into town's twilight,
Everything perfectly awry,
In time for the parade of lights,

Which proceeded perfectly through
The thronged roads of holiday town.
The warm air held, from peace to peace,
Sandy light, pearl cloud, dance lights, dark.

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