the warm, wet sidewalk makes my old shoes squeak
a black cat guards a neglected garden
the matte sky flattens houses into paintings
almost spring. who notices?

laundry-scent piped into the street. the ozone-
smell of arcing current somewhere
couples with matching helmets biking at night
my housemate’s midnight lamp-oil

orion poses nude above the naked
trees, basking in the moon,
sincerest of valentines. isn’t that you, psyche,
still looking for your husband?

friends whose birthdays i’ve forgotten seem
to appear at perfect moments, to accept
the gift of my embarrassment. warm dry night,
hug them all for me

i’ve lost the urge to smoke, but then forgotten
how to sleep at a decent hour
long nights, undramatic, full of soup,
slow and still and free