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Fiction & Poetry
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uneasy dry
Gray soothing skies have finally ended a region's queasy winter sun. Seattle has witnessed a winter of dry discontent, its sunshine harshly angled and cold, and blinding to the south.
So peculiar to feel doom in the sun, when gray gloom's shroud expects to haze winter's fun, but we all feel its bare metallic beams, see empty sky, and look to mountains dry, where winter's snow should fly, to complete a summer's dreams.
But meaning's a ghostly haunt beyond, in the out and about; and though conspicuous, our daily chore, we've hauled our consumption up here, at the edge of a tier, that sags with our fear, relentless and dear, unstill, we look for more. -- rén, Seattle, March 5, 1977 |