Cherry trees blossomed and fell in the wind.
Stare at Morningside hill from the fishing hole
across the river.
Listen to the satellites going streaking across
stable night constellations and wonder
at the seams dividing ghosts.
Violently close diffident to close violence.
Shed jacket and glasses and sunglasses gone
in due time
like fallen leaves ahead of boot schedule
Sleep for days. Wake to dust motes,
her arm stilled across your torso.
A stiff traffic report. I-216
backed to the gills.
Where is the lighter? Night turned to day
work.
