The Argument for more Life

soft dust of destruction falls on hardtop memory (and
we are); we dream in binary—pact between two who

survive/continue one step at

the point you made in our café, listening to that jazz guitarist,
sun scrolling down his left hand, wine
on the table, then magically gone—

we walked left from King Street and ended up in fields of houses
packed European (before suburban madness) around downtown—

we read signs proclaiming existence

in increments of culture, as though there’s a differentiation between
one cell and the next occupying space
within the yell we are—photographs on falling snow