2022-08-16

 
--Greg Kuzma

It is morning.
We are building the ruin of another day.
And are hard at it.
Muscles deflect the sun,
the rain is burning off,
and now the wind rises.

Who would have thought
we would get this far,
into our nearly middle age.
We who have thought the
world would let us come
right up to the present crisis.

Whatever the allowance is
we spend it.
We lean and groan, the sea,
far off, leans and groans.
Birds skitter past us, trees bend,
and the wind advises.


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