Monday, July 28, 2008


The surface of the loading dock had been milled
by a century
of pallet-laden forks.
The ballast
emerged in a loose,
slippery flour. I could feel its
granular drift beneath my shoes.

Nails and washers were compacted in
the sediment. An iron
cross-beam poised its hesitant
threat, rushing us

molecule by molecule.

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