Revised

Crime Scene

Yellow cordon of tape hums

low in a stiff breeze down

from Saginaw Bay

a norther that scatters

empty evidence markers

the length of Miller Road

Dupont Street alive in eddies

uncapped and droning

Tennyson/Bishop/Frost

lost for words this morning

working my way through

another pallet of water

dead poets urgent

as specks of blue sky

box kites above a crime scene

easing the truck past

houses of the common

abandoned down Whitman

transcendence, surely

for the forbearing souls

over on Emerson.