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Literature Text
Flamingo weather vanes
are a tackiness
even the rains can't wash away,
as will be the remains of Christmas lights
around rows of palms
while the north remains
sophisticated
in the glares of her sunsets
through bare tree trunks,
and graffitied bridges --
the browns and golds of past autumns
blowing into the folds of her scarf.
So the dawn works hard
to stitch a new pattern--
the thin reed against the milk of a cloud
as the stars lie witness,
glance towards the west with its canyon sunsets
who know better than anyone
that when the world sheds all of her green
she is just another tentative arm
reaching out to the sky.
are a tackiness
even the rains can't wash away,
as will be the remains of Christmas lights
around rows of palms
while the north remains
sophisticated
in the glares of her sunsets
through bare tree trunks,
and graffitied bridges --
the browns and golds of past autumns
blowing into the folds of her scarf.
So the dawn works hard
to stitch a new pattern--
the thin reed against the milk of a cloud
as the stars lie witness,
glance towards the west with its canyon sunsets
who know better than anyone
that when the world sheds all of her green
she is just another tentative arm
reaching out to the sky.
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