Poems January 2005
Overpass
Beyond the clouds crumpled page, a winter water-
mark of sun. The houses lean on the wind, another
transient body of wind within weather, an unbound
spill of smoke, soot to smudge these hills. A clutter
gates the raw fence of wood, woods where trees rake
air for what a wind can carrydust, leaves, paper
scraps which tell no story but that of tangled flight.
The hills ring, delimit a sense of risk. Seen, here,
from overhead, asphalts conduit sends and receives,
retrieves passing messages, overheard whispers
we cannot quite decipher. All along its edges
are scattered cast-off rags, torn strips of rubber.
A Message from the Editors
Support our crucial work and join us in strengthening the bonds of civilization.
Your donation sustains our efforts to inspire joyous rediscoveries.
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 23 Number 5, on page 32
Copyright © 2023 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com
https://newcriterion.com/issues/2005/1/overpass