outside the window still lit
after 3 am
☯
One bright orange balloon
from the bunch, lost to the wind…
the sky’s only color
☯
Two woolly afghans
curled by knees on the bed
kept close; that’s enough
☯
Starlight, come how far
to glisten at the edges
of my open blinds
☯
History is made
about two blocks south of here
I’m warm in the dark
☯
History? Foolish.
Two nights later, we’ll all note
our place, our station
☯
A dog barks inside
that storefront, locked for years…
puzzling evidence
☯
Preacher, northbound bus
“I love you! Who else loves you!”
…then out into sluck
☯
Crackle of the rain
as it smacks, then zigzags down
past my window ledge
☯
His face, the flat planes
eye standing at attention
for their next target
☯
For three syllables
she sings to Prince, “Purple Rain”
war news scrolls, silent
☯
Croaking, she recites
“I am the light, and the way…”
her bags, her black eye
☯
Cockroach on the sink
has a birth date and death date
much like its landlord
☯
Two cranes almost kiss
orange to orange, above
my warm pestered head
☯
Still mind, still body
at 3 pm on Tuesday
the wind simply is
