The Moya View

Shadows and Footprints of Everyday Crimes

The shadows of our footprints

follow us everywhere from the court,

the pavement, the dance, the street,

ink stained register of our birth,

and the stumble to grave,

invisible to us unless

in melting snow, bed of dirt.


The powder on the factory floor

leaves the forensics of our existence.


Watch as trees bend

to cover the crime,

wind and lighting conspire

to cover the crime.


The little black dog  on a leash

being hastily pulled away

as  his hind paws kick up snow

in a frenzy conspiracy to hide the tracks

while other tracks are exposed in

the freshly trampled white

too numerous for even limbs to hide.


The angles of shadow staircases and flues

declare the evidence of their guilt,

their conspiracy with death.


An iron rooster crowing northwest

in the embers of the day

exposes rooftop crosses

and a receding skyline,

caught in the smoky cyclone

that reveals two once tall towers.


Two shadows on the pavement

walk towards each other

one holding onto the long

rail of a stop sign while

the lady on the third floor

arranges three flower pots

on her tenement window sill

in the enclosing concrete footprints

that surround her and every one.


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