Sunday, March 16, 2014


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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