Often, when you sit by the window

Looking out at the alleyway behind the house,

I feel lonely near one or two p.m.

And go for a walk in the affluent districts, adjacent to our own

Until the sidewalks don’t look

Grimy and littered with plastic asteroids.

I stop at the tulip garden,

Along rows of mansions, too big for their own good,

Complete with oversized shutters plastered on

The front like a botched breast

Augmentation. I notice solitary evergreens,

Veteran saplings torn

From their mother soil. The wilted petals and drooping

Stems, some stomped into the earth—

The result of vicious intent, others  

Standing, barely, by the virtues of their

Lengthy stalks. Early afternoon,

Middle-aged divorced women

In the park, their Pomeranians’

Eyes sparkle. Chewing on a blade of grass,

I return to my endeavor, past a parked golden

Subaru under trembling branches of untimely heat,

Traversing those sidewalks that will never

Feel the same way,

Those infinite perfumes of solstice: the burn of mowed lawns

And sanded wood, seasonal enchantment. Once,

With late night whimsy, I tossed

A handful of Cosmic Brand herbs,

Dried green flecks fluttering about your spasmodic limbs.

Later, I’ll still be trotting along as the cloudless sky

Succumbs to black. I know you’re asleep—

Making perfect short breaths, methodical and

Efficient as a sharp knife runs over tender

Flesh—entirely content, or perhaps quietly seeking.