Friday, February 20, 2009

Cold on my neck

The spring set.
Grass ways.
A lemon spring cucumber
sprung from the side yard,

I could hear crying in the bus tunnels this morning.

One-ninety-four straight south.
She was holding on to his arm,
the same one gripping a suitcase.

A part of you swept through the bus tunnel this morning.

The grip of Union,
Pioneer and King Street couldn't hold it.