fall poetry

a look is but a ray
in your flight
the shadows of the ships
some of the hurts you have cured
skies they were ashen and sober
city that is not a city
at dawn, he said
the hypocritic days
in mournful numbers
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
little park that i pass through
she might have known it in the earlier spring