Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Exactly This

Walking past piles 
of stale, old-news snow,
everything seems exact this morning.

Sharp-angled buildings, 
composed of so-many back-lit bricks,
quake in Fahrenheit temperatures,

while precisely three rumpled finches 
swoop in Euclidean circles, as if to advertise 
the depth of mild morning air.

Then, 
far-off, 
and measured, 
and dark,
an iron bell clangs
a calculated reminder-

I, and those birds,
and those dark bricks,
and even that stale snow;
we aren't exactly news and weather;
not exactly lines or measures,
but all exactly this together:

here and hungry
for today's soft light.

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