| the beaches of rogers park
I've seen sand in blue and red and brown reflecting the seasonal light,
and waves in red and blue and black and churning white,
sluggish with crusted mandalas of ice.
I've seen wind rock the trees, working their many colored falls.
The same trees for years and years,
old trees, new trees, slow growing trees,
elms and maples and catalpas and trees of heaven,
bowing and shaking like wooden rattles
in the charged wind.
On the long, distant side of Pratt Ave. beach,
on the pier's North side,
three willow trees anchor the sand.
Their branches a home for buzzing insects.
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