Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Something resurrected


the copper of one’s hometown
is more precious
than the gold or silver corner
of the end of the earth

skeletons of a life full-lived
here a dance hall
here the grocer
the narrow shack where
Mr. Last-Full-Time-Resident
ate his supper every evening
peopled by the muted ghosts
and pacing spectres in periphery
congregating about boney foundations

damp-handed air strokes
living necks
sunny tamarack burial grounds

dry pine-bough shrouds

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