Savannah

The willow on the corner of Aberthorne and that other lonely street

wait for good news.

An orphan child giggles, his blank echo

a wave that ripples the blacktop

up from under my blistered feet.

I trip on my buzz.

Talking now is a man in finite wisdom

laughing like a script

whispers like he is thankful to have made it

out of where he was from, once.

He doesn’t know my name

but he livens the spectral space

and asks us if we can please listen

for the ways that loss

is

fear

is

loss.

Shadows bounce like rocks on water;

the old willow waves grey air through her body. Only she

can see my dewy, shivered breath.

The clouds break, and this city of light howls into the moon.