Morning Poem, March 10, 2015

The streets are slate grey after this morning’s light rainfall

The fog hangs low above the buildings, below the hilltops

The last remnants of winter are dirty white mounds

The color of the fog, and marked with cinders

Scraped into the corners of parking lots

Miniature Alaskan mountains

And, like those mountains,

melting away.

 

Copyright 2015

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