The best is when you taste the earth-breath damp,
the sun, the sun, drip-dripping dawn, the cold
coffee in your mug, waiting for the red light
to change, the socks, the socks you’ve stolen, sewn
together, thinking about who wore them yesterday,
the basil plant, the tomatoes turning red,
the bread-dust at your feet, your body forgetting
its form, the shirt you’ve worn for thirty days,
the meal with everything expired, warm, the moon
watching you from the window, blushing, waiting
to catch you doubting, like that apology you never
sent, the dead birds, the airplanes, the love letters
folded into the wind, whispering your name into
the night, the tires burning, the smell of rain
just before it starts to pour, the fear of forgetting
what’s yours, what’s next, the taste of tomorrow’s