JACOB MAUSER
What fills the void of night? Nightbird song or cigarette smoke Or secrets. How neat families (father in a suit, Mother a dress) keep Secrets like fine china, Covered only as deep (or nearly) As mulch over dirt in their Gardens. You could almost believe that It’s mulch all the way down. Dig a hole and the Sandy earth rushes to fill The emptiness. Can a void fill itselfHow the sound of a distant train Enters the night long after The train has gone.
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poetry
What Came Over Me **
