#14

The air got much cooler
but when? Everything
is outlined in very fine black ink.
Invisible water cans are washing
it all perfectly clear.
A pigeon looks up—
which pigeons never do.
Wind and then some more wind
catches in my ear canal and howls.  

     Do I tell him my fantasies?
         No, I don’t.
            But this is one
              that I didn’t know about.

Well, what sorts of things do I say?
     The sorts of things that happen in the average day.

This minuteness,
how in focus the night is,
cleans me out and keeps me quiet.
The green moth-eaten sweater
on the back of the broken chair.