Amour, I have made it from Pittsburgh to Paris, alone. You have walked all day the length of streets, cataloged anything of importance that has been here before. Tide at the seawall, the cadence of wind, poems moving in. The church bells chime. A car starts.
Some stranger remarks the brilliance of sun.
Palmettos bow to the weight of air. You walk until your legs say sit down. Enter a cafe. The day blows in on door hinge reeds. You eye the sky so bold a blue, a breathy blinding blue, you think someone will steal off with it, frame it in the coarse of sailcloth for a windowless wall.