[missing]

September ending with a brass knob in the kitchen
presumed missing in a drawer,
believed lost in one of many plastic seas,

a cat, a spotted tabby? newly landed,
taking measurements
of a pocket universe beneath the bed,

a beautiful bird, I’m certain of it, drawing
black across the corner of my eye,
yes, a beautiful bird, certainly,

the opacity a state line detonates,
what aching scars it leaves,
an argot of unawareness, of a sick friend’s state,

what might be said about the leaves,
the migrations, lunar cycles, the sun’s latenesses,
the calendars, the days with fog

when, between which washing cycles, before
or after which drying, there are
hours too humid to escape our lungs