Breeze
Our streetlight
cries
her eyes out
all night long.
A sudden breeze
lifts the heads
of the dead.
The recently dead,
beloved Aunts, Uncles,
Grandmothers
who’ve been missing for years.
Their cool bodies,
infinite-celled now,
soothe my neck
& arms
in the first hours
of morning.
Our streetlight
cries just like a baby
abandoned
on this earth.
Alan Britt
Posted over on Angel Fire
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