10.30.2016

waters slide down

sloped moss-grown

falls where the

mill grew until

the market turned

and the village

folded into itself.

books are the churnings now

that feed

hungry souls who

come by for

a view and a

half caf in the

pub room.

scholar intensive minds

who grab the window

seat overlooks

gaze deeply only

into their laptops.

Emily Dickinson would

not have understood.

——————-