dear m,

last night imagined you
naked clothed in bed (had music for the scene)

and we/and we/were we/that intersection
between March robin and September frost

cusp

the lies I followed/music that led nowhere
in the alleys of rooms/open/closed doors

upon

your voice creating positions on a chess board
like twenty-four to the twenty-forth power

sunset

crumbles the way it does on water
because nothing at that time is political