Meteorology

THE MOON: yesterday’s alarm clock today. Varying states of swell and disavowal. I woke up with more: the blanket on my side, my time underneath. Not enough for the end of a world.

Someone in this world feels too many ‘S’s: sweater, socks, shoes, sweats, somewhere where a dog’s bed sat. Salt-shaker of cardinal. A swallow of old coffee in the fridge. Streetlight a.m.

Outside and aim up and camera flash hits the trees. Moon center. Dwindling. Enter a dog walking a woman. Struck by it, she turns downhill. Stops beneath the streetlight. Stands and watches. White eyes I don’t meet lean on my left shoulder.

A jet plane follows me inside. I am thinking about the meteorology of wood-sorrel’s final seeds. If grief desiccates. Or merely waves in, names new anniversaries.