BOY WITH COMB AND BLUR

gravel near the tracks
the comb’s a new thing—
and dudes and dudettes.

the high wall mish-mash
soot-stained. Closed mill
damage shrugged off.

Just a few pebbles
in his shadow. And
he’ll toss those in the river.

Wires sway above him
as if attached to perfect kites.
He wants to be a branch

growing out over the cliff.
You won’t see him fading
to a blur, walking away.