Autumn again and we’re both in our own corners of elsewhere. I wonder if you sit by the window, too. I wonder, of all
old orange ball bounces up from the gutter into the gap sky whitens bird cries crackle along wire— I am not sun when I
The paper-skin woman was begging at the corner, or was she asking? Perhaps it was as simple as hope. How many in the cars
We sat on our knees in front of the TV, stuffing our mouths with pumpkin pie as the British narrator interviewed bugged out mountain