Tuesday, January 06, 2004

The tractor blade sweeps
Through the slow afternoon light
The grass wet irridescent
Gleaming in the wake of
A brief early burst of
Snow or rain or sleet
Neither the season nor
The weather determinate
Golden light streams over
Bruised skies over
The dying leaves over
The last green lawn of the year.


One of two practice-pieces written as a warm-up for the spontaneous poetry thing at First Night. This one was from the words "irridescent, tractor, wet". You can really tell my sad inclination for seasonal poetry. No customer, just an example start-set mentioned by another poet.

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