Six Months Later

Six months later
and rain
is passing through the waking streets,
drumming
the pavement,
flushing the heat.
Down on San Pedro
that old man with the black eyes
stopped singing some time last month.
I went down to listen for him,
searched
through the blue shadows of late winter
and found nothing
save the distant beat of memory.


Psalm Pollock

©2001

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