March, 2007

The moon shifts.
Its pieces rearrange
and fade into static.
Traces cling to cloud cover.

The clouds become blue-gray
in false morning light. I’m standing under
the awning of our least-favorite cafe
across the street from her apartment,
waiting on the rain.

When the rain comes,
sidewalks will empty for days on end–
in the downpour, the city
becomes mine:

I sing old songs under my breath,
watch water droplets as they divide into infinity,
and cling for a moment onto my unshaven chin.

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