There are afternoons in the city when the light is best for seeing what is not here.
Skyscrapers become translucent and in place stands dune grass and the shore of the past.
A sparrow darts from branch to branch as a gauze of high clouds outlines the wind. Here is where we dig. Some walk away from the grave with hands full of flowers, others are full of words. Now the earth shows its wound and now the body shows its bruise. Take the juice of sorrow from days gone by and provide for the orphaned heart.