Poems August Running

The Bell

A postcard of white apartments with
Interiors all ready for
Visitors, almost; only all of the
Visitors are only adults
From a school.

Not older, not younger;
They want to go for a walk,
To boat,
To sit and talk and drink water;
At least not drink.

No more benches
Along the path;
Certain for the river.

No river;
The river goes under a bridge.
Grey in winter;
A mountain in summer;
With light and air,
Then grey.

A town half-old with the bell,
And half new industry and shops waiting for imports.