Well, it’s a killer. I see it as a poem about the homeless at a train station. No sooner does the subject appear than we’re given that devastating image of erasure. This poem shows us just how much atmosphere, imaginative thought, and empathy, can arise from a mere six lines. Every word is intentional and purposeful , yet the poem does not appear beholden to the intellect. Rather it appears beholden to, and emboldened by, the emotion that conceived it. A real lesson there for all of us. To give the intellect its secondary due: I imagine the imagery and the undisturbed meter would mean a great deal less without…well, without what feels like the holy ghost of restraint. Beautifully handled.
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