photo credit: Varde Kommune
Wayne Price
As if Hurrying
As if hurrying
through the slant
light of early evening,
As if Hurrying
As if hurrying
through the slant
light of early evening,
the city closing
like a box. As if in
the terrible privacy
of dreams. And
rain begins. The heavy
domes of black umbrellas
mushroom
in nodding lines. Or as if
dressing in the dark,
in the not-
quite dawn, in a room
not your own,
the unwholesome
chill of clothes
that have somehow become
strange to your skin.
Or as if the vehicles
we thought we owned,
crouched
in late-night
streets and depots, knew
everything, knew
everything, and would not
wake to carry us on.