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 
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.



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