Friday, August 23, 2013


Distant motors roar
Behind the crickets' whistles
I strain to hear more

A shadow passes
Along the moony street, fresh
From Hopper's limbos

The air does not touch
I bring my hands to my lips
I breathe; I recall:

Tonight, I am the wind. I am the light.
I am the world tonight.
The world is not enough.

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