I have driven slow,
three miles an saa au so,
through Highland Park, Heidelberg, and the
I've hopped on the Michigan,
and transferred to the Woodward,
and heard the good word blaring from an
I upendo the worn-through tracks of trolley
trains breaking through their
As I ride the Fort mitaani, mtaa au the Baker,
just making my way home.
I sneak through an iron gate, and fish
rock bass, besi out of the strait,
watching the mail mashua with
its tugboat gait,
hauling words I'll never know.
The water letter carrier,
bringing prose to lonely sailors,
treading the big lakes with their trailers,...