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	Strange Motif
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Wide empty spaces
Lawns in the pockets between old brick buildings
Courtyards with back entrances and utility pumps
Missing some entity
Some spirit of growth

Stretched and hurried under the clouds
Anticipating rain that doesn't end
A stream from Saturn spun off the rings and melted on your grin
Your nettle smile
Where is that itch now?

Scratching at the underside of fallen leaves
Scraping the parking lot
Searching for that gentle reminder

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Do you remember what your house used to look like?
Do you recall the texture of old furniture?
Where the portraits hung crooked on the wall?
Years of images slowly wiped clean by new formations.

I cannot seem to recall the shapes of my solitude.
Curling in on themselves.
Vines without water, upside down in denial.
Blood rushing to the head.

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Those nights in Port Crane I had no one
But a cat brushing up against my hand in the darkness
And a streetlight through the thin curtain

Isolation is a strange motif
To focus on
And stranger
Still to
Live
In