Overread at Booth 2: After Market in the City of Melting Snow

After Market in the City of Melting Snow

At least once a week,

Walk into the city of melting snow;

Wet weaves through the bricks, cracked

Like melancholy/

A drain of tears,

Through which step the citizens, like

Shadows creep through

Well-worn memories.

There is a weak light

That gathers at dusk.

Shop windows close their tired eyes.

Cart wheels creak

Over the paving stones, their loads

Lighter now than at the early hours

Of the dawn:

So begins the trek

To the country side/

Full of night shadows and banshees.

MR

2015-0817