by Peter McCracken
people-shapes striding
across campus. through fog, rain,
mournful yellow light
in the blank between
twilight and true darkness i
see the skyline as
quickly ripped paper cutouts
shrouded in mist and streetlights
untitled seven
useful gray bars and a void
hearty file trees
replacing old bulbs
with LEDs is good for
vision: do we forget
nostalgic lighting? maybe
we’ll start forgetting ourselves
digital chasms
and snowcapped peaks. dead-pixel
skies with false-hued clouds.
pavement, meet tires,
zipping up the lakefront, or
praising the small sea
in the spot with that one view.
lake michigan in imax
we walk forever
barefoot now; the road was paved
with woven reed mats
