Poem: Rooftop Sermon

Rooftop Sermon

The wind is so fickle it will point the rooster
any which way it wishes,
will turn it all round and about.
The vanity of it, that is the point and the pointing,
though clouds seem fine enough
and don't complain often
about the way they are treated,
the management seems to manage it.
Could be that is just a front,
or, in this case, is not a front,
is not the front coming
over the horizon, darkness
above a whitening sea.

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