image by glenn buttkus
“The grave is but a covered bridge, leading from light to light,
through a brief darkness.”--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Train rails, highways for tall steel wheels, adorn
trestles & span rivers.
When great bridges sprout in people’s yards,
they intimidate the perspective.
The metal gate was betrayed by rust and an
I love those odd places where line and texture
I swear I met a troll named Red Sammy
under the bridge yesterday.
An antique brass street clock stately stood in
a neighbor’s hidden back yard.
A plywood pallet stoutly supports both
of our refuse containers.
A rusty pioneer plow, with rotting harness,
suffices as yard art.
The colossal ferris wheel, during early morning,
began to crave crowds.
Standing in deep shadow, the sad sunflower
was still stretching & yawning.
Cement flowers will gather living moss lichen
That day, all the sagging windows wore
identical white uniforms.
Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB
Would you like the author to read these American Sentences to you?