Friday, February 17, 2017

albina ave double octet


waxing moon with sea of tranquility framed
between utility lines; a chair, white paint

peeling, carved seat holding water, appears to
be free; rain’s stopped & one stratocumulus

takes on the cedar’s contours, billowing east;
tires are stacked four high between  heaped bramble

& chain link; a crack in that side street’s pavement
curves west toward the watertower’s black rise

a privacy screen woven from dried bamboo:
lawn chair half visible past it & windows

mirroring buildings reflecting this late light—
down the street a fence rail lashed to a tree trunk

with nylon rope, a pink child’s car flipped over,
a curbside basketball hoop with blue backboard;

inside a cedar’s skirts a flock of juncos
chirps electric, naming the liminal hour

Jack Hayes
© 2016

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