The Wheel Turns On Tarmac The Same Way It Has Turned Since The Invention Of Tarmac, The Airplane And The Wheel
summer suddenly dead-
the rain cuts with the self-assurance of a
sharper metaphor,
the season cloven,
the sky pale blue to pale blue with
rolling clouds.
i think of elsewhere.
late-season strawberries and
singing in the streets.
can you stand still for a second?
the bubble hasn't burst yet and
i want to get you in frame.
pinions preened pre-flight poised and
present
it shimmers behind you in
opals and soap.
in my mother's kitchen:
she asks who it is i'm seeing and i
ask her if she's making soup.
page revision: 3, last edited: 20 Sep 2023 16:27