Morning Poem, March 2, 2015



Through my window the world is silent, but moving

Last summer’s leaves, still held by one side of the black oak

shake and flutter against the last breath of winter

People walk purposely along, still in hats and gloves

Traffic drifts by

A man with papers in his hand crosses the street

a girl holding a cup of coffee now hurries behind

as a car approaches

Even the shadow of my building

marking a line on the building to the west

moves, brick by brick, as the planet turns.


Copyright 2015

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