by Patricia Reed
shadowed by pigeons, the iron bones
opaquely phlegmatic under the tickling ash trees.
her rails lightly fingered by a passerby
queen’s brail wrought with beaks and pinions
they cluck at her arches, at her bluesy smoke glow,
at her sinewy legs, smooth masonry inexhaustible
beneath the bright flashes cleaving
to her as diatoms under the sunlight.
a torchlight sentry cannot deny him his gawking
only stands there threadbare against the throng
quietly pointing the possibility of another way.