Even I can see the flowers are up. I take
like wild vine to my bed. And may I have
a word with the miser measuring out my joys.
A vinyl shade the color of mayonnaise
allowing an inch of the world. I am not
concerned with the people on the street
what they will wear or will not or what
the noises are. I depend on the visitation
of another kind of weather. Comrades, we have come
a long way. From all accounts this is a city.
Sometimes despite myself my body
pulls up artifact—a rock or someone