What can we say? We woke from the dream
of the sustained dream.
First the interruption then the interruption.
The room smelled of rain: the windows left open
like the person leaving, the person coming.
Those who were caught between action and action
became the subject of the story. But their movement
didn't signify. The neighbors above
circled back on their small errands,
weighing down the same place.
So you, so I:
If you extend promise of life to the dead.
The peaches withered in their skin
But were still good to eat:
A cool July. Every day, the light lifted the heat
Higher and soaked the room, then
But am making my way back to the center of the mind.
One note. Another note.