The Glassmen: by Bonnie McClellan

The glassmen run reconnaissance

like fluorescent-vested spiders

through the web of night streets;

lacing the village tightly

from downhill church to up.


Dawn crashing they come

green reflections

of wined evenings upended

echoing through the fog.

By bonniemcclellan

Mother, poet, american ex-pat from Texas living in Northern Italy.

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