January 2008 / Volume Eight / Issue One
David Bates
Map of the Earth

tracing the landscape
in my breath
on the window

the squeak of finger against glass
captures a car
at a stoplight

a woman at the bus stop

the small winter sun
between two buildings
as if it were stuck
or giving up

I collect what I can
until there are only
obsolete holes
in the condensation
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