boards weathered gray screwed off kilter to posts:
a corral for a plywood-clad gas station—
plum leaves curled at the edge drop next to the fence;
I wish you could see them float this afternoon
as westward light opens involuntary
as eyes; katsuras lining the hospital
sleep naked: this raw gust catches my breath short:
sun divides black clouds with blinding white surprise
Jack Hayes
© 2016
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