metre to metre, blue-black under the overpass

craving speech or a slowing of thought, you

walk straight-backed

 

a glance the only thing needed

to divine intention, as drivers drive by

this & every balmy grass-seed-infested october evening

 

so you collect all of the best lines ever written

& place them across the sky’s fade:

the best & truest of all the things thereby magnified

the intensity upped, all the feels laid bare

 

only now (& you can say this, ‘now’ as if it really is now)

you’re trekking an empty block, precipitous

for the rocky footing, the paddock’s snake

potential indeterminate – what season is it?

 

& so you describe things as-they-are / exactly

where you are / omitting nothing

you are a vessel you are the navigator & you

can change tack

 

it’s comforting if more abject:

you play a secret agent, under deep cover

purpose forgotten like one sky after another

 

so the meaning in the key objects still glows:

diamond patterning atop each sandal

potentially beautiful squares in the white

deceiving your eyes like the moon

over that streetlight

 

this gets you somewhere / the image

a navigational tool / then

you’ve already hit send

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