Poem at Sunset

My world,much like yours:    7/8 water,circling in streams, closing itself in cruciform. There’s a blue dusk            clouding the houses,              hiding clustered tips.              They’re revealed at will  .       in novel form                               if only by creature comforts.                                                              .                                               I keep my eye                              on gaps of asbestos siding, where seething children play. Then later,                                   in dull moments,                        I rise to bargain,                        with sleepwalkers, vandals.                                  Fading  dusk,                       .      a  whirl of footsteps                  They rip us apart,                    voices protesting            ` tomorrow’s solar eclipse.     Harangues of the young ,  teams on the street,.            echo in  oncoming vapors .

Seers of things,                   dreamers of dreams:           hooked on belief                                in their own endless capers  avoiding guesses and clues, embracing the rumors.              rising in  pulse,                             text without meaning ,                the old ones caught                         in the grease of the wheel.         The night’s sudden concussion.


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