you know me…

i am that three-storey brick thing
near those railroad tracks
that are hardly used anymore.
i am the pale blue peeling steps
leading up to the porch
with their definite slope westerly.
I am the cry
of some unidentidied species –
part loon, part banshee –
that pierces straight through
at midnight or so –
unabashed sorrow
caught in its own
embarrassment,
disappearing as suddenly
as it appeared and leaving you
hearing the refrigerator hum.
I am nowhere
everywhere
like the folly of men who waste
the only life they have
in pursuit of
the unknowable.

.

.

.

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