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Moran Watches Progress Happen

I watch the snow. It’s falling harder,
Suspended in Seattle’s show
Of lights, diffusing urban ardor
In winter’s industrial glow.
As wind demands a votive candle
To yield, so breezes tease and fondle
A flame to St. Vitus’ dance,
To flick the nave or lick the sconce,
And cast a creep of sullen shadows…
But Seattle’s progress, her mien,
Is set as cold cathedral stone
Against her fiery past. What follows?
A thread of flame, a needled fire,
And stitching brick, electric wire.

Comments

  1. Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says:

    Change we can believe in.

    Thanks JOB.

  2. Quin Finnegan says:

    I love this one, of course. Thanks, JOB.

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