Day 700, June 2, 2022

Broken Asphalt

At the end of the day, 

the sky moved with intensity, 

    forearms and biceps 

of foreboding. 

I saw 

    a long languid fox 

        slink down 

        a dirt road, 

head held low. 

A brown rabbit 

lay 

knocked into the tall grass, 

almost alive except for its 

open and cloudy 

eye. 

It looked windier than it was. 

There are couches and bureaus 

set on the curb, 

        left by college students 

            who have gone home. 

A great big wall mirror 

with shelves 

attached 

has a pink sheet of paper 

taped 

to the glass 

    where someone wrote, “Free” 

        in big blue letters. 

Beside a trash can 

is 

a 

large 

pile 

of 

sneakers. 

I dreamt my son was calling 

and I only heard his first word. 

I woke early

 and reassured myself 

that the day had just begun. 

Where the road has broken apart, 

I ride closer to the center and rise off the seat. 

An accidental photo.