Wednesday, March 28, 2018


More unsure than 
ever in the shifting 
orange-ish evening light—

and framed by drifting 
chalk moon sky and glistening 
gritty parking lot—I totter

and resort, like a 
jerk, to the only 
game I'm sure I can master:

to gaze yet again 
upon her cagily—
as if she were ever

a piece of my 
chintzy property, as if 
she could still yet be

some practicable 
magic eye poster—now 
and then, a person 

emerging; but more often