Sunday, April 12, 2015

Shifting

It's pretty dark,
Still some light in the west;
I see the Evening Star,
A satellite maybe,
A couple of planes going into the 
City. I see the Dipper arriving, 
Which one I'm not sure.
I welcome the constancy of land and 
Sky, and my knowing.
Having such a terrible time, though.
I do not like the years.

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