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.
No comments:
Post a Comment