O, conspicuous
fleshy pink
hibiscus
still waving to me
on increasingly crisp,
persuasive breezes
and foregrounding
now, from the threadbare bushes
nearest to the avenue,
the neighborhood's
canniness of
Halloween decor—
how I wish
you could tell me
what it is I don't notice
about the moments
in which I am
truly contented
until the colors
have shifted
and the whole planet
tilts—and they're
so out of place, it starts to look
ridiculous.
