Sunday, April 16, 2017


Every vehicle passes in urgently murmuring style.
Interchanging, they sweep on around between causeway and pyl-
    on. And on, from the morning, from the time of the lightening dark.
If the vehicles rattle their darkness, their onwards, they spark-
    le their turns through her sleep. Under glass that has frozen, she spins.
Even older, this cat in her sleep will still prick up her tins-
    el-hued ears at each rattling sweep, of these hours and this mile.

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