Untitled 121

I am swirling by. It’s a curve. It’s a train.
It’s a corner
window
You are looking out and I am looking up.
Shutter falls, shadows rise
Light disappears and winds its way back,
Slack and sideways to this corner moment.

I am not even thinking about any of this
But of New Orleans and the
ragged edges after the flood
It’s 2010, but I only write the date out of guilt, because dates remind me that in New OrleansĀ 
everything is before or after Katrina.
I am in Chicago and the El rattles along and the corner disappears and your corner, blue window and my
Conjured memory of a windstorm I was not a part of
and the corner bends around and the train rattles a little
and
that’s it.

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