Been awhile.

From January; a trip to Baltimore.

Through the bus window, out of New York.
Barren scores of urban cliffs—
cloaked in winter trees
(their unexpected softness, out-of-focus)—
look like lost castles
through spectacles designed for looking at things

Dried drops on the wide panes
from another rain
lend the highway a cold look,
and the hills and ponds we pass—
everything is brown or grey or blue—
a wan blue, not of summer.

Concrete, wires, and water—
billboards and stark branches—
a plane landing. Smokestacks,
brave birds wheeling,
and as day’s light fades,
it’s replaced by the inevitable red and white sparks, the moving—
arterial illumination of intercity systems—
and Departures.

Say some words!

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