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

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
bounces
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

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