|
z
|
rays do not shine, they freeze, under gray skies, and they flutter in the uneven wind, lone and together, they push, limply, wilting leaves, satisfying no one, they hang and wave, loose and dry in the wet air, open and festering on endless howl, the dogs are under the porch and after the wind sweeps around the corner, eyes open, weeping dust, wearing glare, and softly cringing against the next gust, the next ray, the next gutter, and stops
|
121005
|
