A l e c  H e r s h m a n

                        
Coming Home


All of a sudden you know this road,
its left ditch tufted with chive blossom
like the hairy ears of a cat you tried to persuade
with tuna-fish and milk.
And you know the address on that flier,
though not the people, or what they might be selling,
or whose cross that is, painted white,
and driven through the earth like a stake.



















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