Sunday Night

Poem By Francis Santaquilani

The window's up on
sunday night the
porch light a
mockingbird the
moon and the mountain
steams the valley propels
the express on it's clear
cool breath through the
house and across the
wide river into some
amorphous shapes
somewhere it's clatter
collides and cuts
the clamor seems to never
care to never care to
cross to cross
to cross to cross

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