____ the radio across the patio, neighboring lawns, and Hopkins Street.
(loved ones present in their absences)
____ ants across the table, a book's outdoor shiver, carbon-fueled boxes.
(Patio becoming Vacation)
____ the sun's February personality.
(the perpetual middle chapter of the afternoon)
____ cigarette smoke down into pine needles and coffee mugs, bare heels
on stool rungs, elbows on graffiti wood.
(a white tee still white, across freckled collarbone)
____ phones to the bottoms of bags, the body language of old willows
on gravel, familiar faces changed by staring long enough.
(deadlines laughed at, by those who look through glass windows and not at themselves)
There is enough movement here,