I stare out at the frame of something still undecided,
Remembering the dirt piles higher than trees,
The five of us standing in our basement,
Just after the foundation had been finished.
We had climbed down through the window wells
While someone stood above,
Ready to take a picture.
We could see straight across to Great America undisturbed.
The first house on our street:
The first house in the newer part of a
Half way developed neighborhood,
Now fully developed so that the view is obstructed except
From the East where corn stretches until
Plant stacks stand straight at the
Edge of Lake Michigan.
The airport searchlights whirl around and around like
A lighthouse for planes that land themselves;
No one is in the control tower after 4pm.
Alone in the night now,
I stare out at the frame of something still undecided.
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