What Remains

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Today, some photos from the Lower 9th Ward. I have done some drafting about this experience in New Orleans, but the lines aren’t coming together in a cohesive way yet, so I will just share a few lines that are  part of  a sort-of sonnet that is emerging…

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Rust still crawls up wrought iron railings like a rash

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that old song about the river rolling

stuck like a deep bass hum on the back of the tongue.

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Water took it. No one has yet to give it back.

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