FACSIMILES

Sunday morning sun coming
Up over the punctuated
Factory glass of Erie
Pennsylvania, the Erie
Beer Company closed
Forever, green scrap cranes
Still, flaccid almost
As gleaming heaps
Of disassembled metal
Split the light in all
Directions, basking
At Erie’s fringes
The sun’s almost
Solemn orb striated
By fingers of cloud
It nonetheless gobbles
Neon at the borders
Leaving Erie on
A cramped, acrid Amtrak
Scribbling on a snack
Car napkin heading North