The world becomes a picture
not yet dry, sticking against its frame
the singe of street lamps in a sunset skin
their early flare, warming through still summer canopies
they contract, more distinct, now leaves
singular and sifting against others
in the sudden early night
or at least a dimmer slide of light
the projector clacks
the late and long transparencies pass
and here the world is drying
in new textures.
sept 15, 2010
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