Thursday, August 30, 2007

The Big Show


Walking a dusty western lane

We heard strange music

A marching tune with heavy drums,

Floating between dust motes

Trombones and piccolos,

Accordion and calliope,

Rusty notes on the wind,

Colliding faintly

Among dry grass and star thistle,

Flickering on leaves

Of late summer green trees.

From some Time

Before grass and trees

Were trees and grass.

Hear it in the mid-day sun

Hear it in the mid-night moonlight

A parade to wary ears

Bringing impossible memory

From a faraway circus

A somewhen show

We never saw

And never will.

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