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Lynn Street in Herndon
This epic stars the street, simple
gray roadway, all adapple with glints
and shadows shed by whatever it passes
through and under,
paved with bits of sky and cloud,
shaggy purple tree shadows, faint echoes
of green and brick-red, and--as an
afterthought--its own white and yellow
markings, least of its motley.
Light poles at attention, trees and houses,
loyal providers of filtered light and shade,
lower their long shadow cloaks in tribute,
glittering entourage, as if this street
were the long train of a dazzling queen's
gown, royal procession of summer light,
giving these houses, signs, and vacant lots
all the beauty the road borrows back from them.
The road, like royalty, is perilous,
a swift current, each shadow
that touches it running the risk
of being swept away into a narrowing beyond,
towing behind it its house or treelimb.
We can live in this huge cozy space,
where roads cherish what they pass through,
where home leans into a distance
that is the promise of home.
October 6, 2002