doing a crossword on a still porch-cold paper
trembling on a pun
balancing on the quietness
of the solitude of a picador’s full attention

the rattle of ineffectual windows
in Central California
barely there walls
cause the only movement in a wintered heart

stepping into the embraces
of alley shadow I am
thoroughly explored by her
near forgotten breath

words are left forgotten
as over the course of fourteen minutes
spring arrives unceremoniously to a
city asleep and restless

blood warm as a crime scene
golden apertures hint grace
through smell of sea
and trash-pick-up-day