I hadn’t seen you in a long time
but there you were
on that perfect sunday
when all the spring blossoms were in full color
the hint of summer warmths in the air
and you were taking out your lawn clippings
perfect day you said
and i agreed
and it would be ok until the next time
we met

It’s like each five minutes
You pass an invisible border:
Going back in time.
You climb upcreek
The old crumbly train overpass
The WPA outhouse
The stone bridges
Hand-built stone creekbanks
The whiff of sulfur
The trees bigger
The jays louder
The trail ends
Nobody’s here
I expect Alice
to suddenly appear from behind a sycamore
Smiling, pointing to a painted door.

At first I thought:
This is what it’s like to be where cars are supposed to be, not people.
But then I realized: I like the way the stucco walls and asphalt hold the heat, even as the sun descends.

The great thing about waiters is they treat everyone the same.

I’m beginning to learn
How to look at you now.
In a crowd or by yourself:
I’m not thinking about sex.
Don’t be offended, please
Because I like the way you play with your napkin
And the way you look out the window.
Just not in the way I used to.

Looking across the street at you
The heat stands in the patio
Make your sign look psychedelic

I realize: We are all but one coat of paint
One gardeners’ week away
From being tattered.
Makes me like tattered.

Usually the gutters are filled with twigs,
KFC wrappers, soda cups, doritos wrappers.
But today the wind picks up from the south and blows all of the white flowers from the blossoming trees into the gutter.
They’re like a ribbon of snow
A ribbon of feathers
That extend until they stop
At the back right wheel of the pickup truck a block away

The Rose Garden waits for you
Mostly it sits there and sleeps
Kind of empty
Thinking no on will use me
It waits til you’re ready
For the change of seasons
For a memory of an older view of the city
For a time when you need to watch a sunset
And feel the day breathe out at twilight.