Crows fly in formation
toward solid steel:
the bridge, a flightless bird, clipped
chipped paint,
gray upon gray.
I am aware of taking up

The winter sun stains
the edge
of these South Bronx projects,
an experiment in cloning
one brick wall
identical to another
like dutiful soldiers

at roll call. The last light
off vacant windows—an extravagance—
ceremony of iron and light. Time

stops, I hear my pulse—
shift my bag,
left shoulder to right,
leave the sun slipping
off the street signs.

© Terri Muuss

excerpt from Over Exposed (J.B. Stillwater, 2013) and published with the poet’s permisson

Discussion is welcome! Thank you ...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.