sniffing for scraps
on the subway track
city rats
around the garbage
for a little while
a pond
windblown all
these white
hairs askew
Christmas lights
alone in the dark
of morning
simplicity finds
no words for the earth
after rain
again this morning
the lawn is a rumpled quilt
of new-fallen leaves
still the work is before me
pinpricks of snow in the air
the shower spray
shears from my naked body
in flecks of gold
it’s a trick of the light
like everything else
in a strange place
waking up to the sound
of elevators
I feel under covers
for your bare feet
dead baby
bird above the grey
sky always stars
this dusty bottle
was once
her perfume