CLACKING AND PERHAPS
Keeping murk from giving way
to monochrome. Learning rooms.
Waked is not disbelieved but difficult
to determine. As color, as eye is apparition.
Inside an outline of hills and trees
really just a darkened, an over-exposed
take printing to various black, a horse
pulling a carriage keeping pace. How
can it keep pace? Surging as a ship
leading a heavy load, no face in the window.
Clacking and perhaps it was the only
time I've heard the exhalation of a
memorable man. My guardian was
tall, vinegar and leather, which sharpened
as it sunk in cloth. Someone said
he was a memorable man. After I buried
the polish I brought up dusty cider,
bottled, and a churchkey. Made him
a sandwich. Air forced from his whole
frame like horse's breath, churchkey
clacking and perhaps a myriad of bells.
Slowed again, bad track or town-crossing,
a man calling Clarton!, buggy gone
and early morning a dirty whitewash.
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