particles of scent


i have rushedly not made

enough time for things;

and have along the way

missed (from vinyl bus seats watching

whizzing by) blurs of loveliest

loneliest pinks, browns, greens,

which (imagination tells me) might

from arm’s breadth burn my retinas out with placid beauty.

only faintly have i caught with flaring

nose the drips and dews and bounces of things, chased (like

gathering air in a cheesecloth) fleetingly up and off by

gasoline fumes. pattering off the windows like

pebble rain ping the notes of some glad

hymn, wafting lofting up from the chorus of a

country church; they ricochet glancingly, as bullets, off

ears made too of window glass, and shatter under the

burn of engine hum. (and o how i long now to

shout to him to stop this lumbering husk) but

we are far past now. these things i long to see,

now that it is too late. i turn to the one with whom i

boarded, and find her

gone, and the seat empty and

cold. only once have i closed my eyes

for reasons other than

to sleep.


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