The second thing they
teach you
At the tourist bureau
in Ghent
Is that there was no
good news
And certainly not from
Aix;
Browning made it up.
His eyebrows rising
heavenwards
The chief clerk asks
“And who would give a
horse
Their last measure of
wine?”
On a narrow street in
Kalamazoo
Where everything’s
old and nothing is new
On a rainy day, in
that shadowed way,
I stood a while and
thought of you.
On every corner in Kalamazoo
A church stands.
Ghosts have much ado
Beneath a steeple to
pass as people
On Stuart or Westedge Avenue
The false is close
kin to the true
The past will always
claim its due
And filled with rue I
dreamt of you
On that narrow street
in Kalamazoo
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