Main Street

O little town

of solitudes

here the wind

gathers itself

and swirls elms

autumn oaks

and here

along the river

hills rise

and ripple

west toward the prairie

a horizon away. Here

we sing with sparrows

read the jewelweeds'

runes and here

we dream

new dreams

after old ones

break down.

I will never find

my voice or lose

my discontent. And

some nights I pray

until my tongue bleeds.

 

--M deO

 

Done