the street lights by Mark Prisco

Leaves are stricken pale.

 

Gold (the interplay of

cloud/moon, head-

lights) – the flax

shadows the letter box.

 

When shall the cat

learn?

 

There’s nothing here

to be frightened of.

 

The sudden rush of wind, feet,

is no threat; do you think I’d let

something bad happen to you?

 

It’s cool & you’re

next minute all:           what’s

 

that? – A car door

slams &

 

.

Originally posted on http://poetry.org.nz/percy64/the-street-lights/

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