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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<article version="5.0"
	xml:id="nuclear-vermont"
	xmlns="http://docbook.org/ns/docbook"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:xlink="http://www.w3.org/1999/xlink">
	<title>Bringing Nuclear Power to Vermont</title>
	<info>
		<author condition="class">
			<personname>
				<firstname>brian</firstname><othername>m.</othername><surname>carlson</surname>
			</personname>
		</author>
	</info>
	<literallayout xml:space="preserve" class="normal">I notice, briefly, a desk chair rolling down the sidewalk,
its plastic wheels loudly, crisply, propelling
it down the hill, a man chasing behind it.

And I sit there, look up at the tall maple
	through this huge glass window
its foliage thick and red,
the ridges, deep and grooved to hold a dime.

The sun is warm still, I know; the maple’s shade
is like a sip through a straw, cool and impermanent,
always asking me to abandon my drafting
to another day.

Nevertheless, I look forward, out to the thin green
blades of grass, sigh quietly, and then go back
to whistling the T-square across the table.</literallayout>
</article>