Sunday, November 30, 2008

Heads I

by Beverley Bie Brahic

Periwinkle blue is the sun
behind the church. And gold to the east where leaves
sift down off trees, splash
in gutters. Soon the team
of sweepers with their musical machines.

He lifts his bedroll to his arms,
carries it like something ailing
he settles in a corner of the sidewalk
until tonight.

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