It’s early, yet the day’s in pieces.
Night came fast,
sucked light from the flowers
in the big park.
The green is gone for now.
These long sidewalks are straight
as Kansas in August,
seem to spell out
ancestors’ forgotten names
in Swedish and Croatian.
As the slivered moon emerges from its lair,
I can’t stop thinking of her
and her thick brown hair.
Even gas stations won’t take
this pocket of counterfeit coins
under acres of neon glare.
Parking the tired car
with its empty tank of fuel
on a silent side street,
I re-tie my shoe laces
and set out into the dark.
Rain descends
like holy water
from the black
infinite
sky.
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