A Poem For Sunday

From “Trying to Leave Saint Paul” by Jim Moore:

Little streets of Saint Paul

that lead nowhere. One of them

ends where quiet drunks sit

in the old September grass

on top of a hill.

Street cars used to run here,

through a tunnel cut into the hill.

The sun rides so low

in the cloud-filled western sky,

it makes the empty bottles glow.

(From Invisible Strings © 2011 by Jim Moore. Used by kind permission of Graywolf Press. Photo of the St. Paul skyline by Flickr user Jeremiah)