Monday, April 9, 2012

Old 33

what's left
of her, bypassed,
who had always seemed
the joining of the sun
and its setting,
now the river's thin shadow,
meandering
through the corn,
past woodlots,
cemeteries, billboards,
boarded up filling stations,
empty storefronts, still
changing her clothes
at every little
town she divides

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