it's not the streets
but what's underneath
and the houses say
little but what careens
behind them that's
a sound endearing
it's not the nesting strangers
but that they meet
in open doors and it's not
the trees new deckled
but the bare memory
it may be the wet gate
but more its easy swing
the night is not a time
but a place
safe to pass unseen.
may 5, 2011
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