Saturday, July 5, 2008

The 232nd Fourth

I watch my city stop, fold up,
and sit wide-eyed across a bridge.
And the sky turns for us--
turns outward in three-four time
and fades.

The smoke remains draped
as a flag in still air,
listlessly moving west.

Now, a newfound blankness
as my city disassembles
and we flee.