You want to wake, today, more visible
than not.  A shape in blue
_________________________dawn assembling,
dispersing in equal measure to the heat
the street allows
_____________the air.  Mug of coffee, your hand.
That time between seasons: a jacket and shorts.
That time you called
_____________a dead man’s phone—a moment
alone with him before the tone
____________________which meant something
new had begun.  A silence
__________________________that meant maybe
it hadn’t.  Maybe you’ve fallen behind, are falling,
and the leaves outside
___________________are desperation.  And the wind
that moves them.  And the chance of rain.
Somewhere, though, you do have
__________________________people, a small people
in a failed colony called
__________________the body, called in loving,
there is shame.  There is an easy distance between you
and the mouth
_____________whose utterance, like a narrow light
through fog, gives you shape.  But what you need
is a life
______inside this one, so you can leave and return
refreshed, leave
_____________and return still-warm from the other
body that holds you.  You want to go on waking,
today and any other, to a light,
_____________a people, real enough to turn from.



D.S. Waldman