Poet Poem by Keith Waldrop

Poet



The wind dying, I find a city deserted, except for crowds of
people moving and standing.
Those standing resemble stories, like stones, coal from the
death of plants, bricks in the shape of teeth.

I begin now to write down all the places I have not been—
starting with the most distant.
I build houses that I will not inhabit.

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Keith Waldrop

Keith Waldrop

Emporia, Kansas / United States
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