Work, revised

View From An Arlington Balcony

A rumpled horizon sets to work

as the sun goes down dividing my view

shouldering the rectangle balanced 

lightly on the Chesapeake, a slice

of seaboard peeled back from fretting skies

Reagan International resonating

under finger plucked flight paths, tuned taut.

Running headlong, head down, elbow

on this leg cradling all those marbled

targets, flowing relieved into the bay.

Capital dome a pointy dunce cap

radiating monkey shines, Washington

Monument on the mend, bolted into

a halo brace, Macallen’s on ice

beading on the rail line up perfectly

with only a slight shift of my chair while

tree top choppers worry all bejesus

out of a blameless Potomac, whistling

softly as it hurries past it’s southern

shore, a dark bruise in our constellation.