Playground a’squawk. From the south-side
street opposite, out for a daytime walk,
I first spot his jacket. Like a binary star
my son rising pixelated on
the far horizon: those bits I own
as atmosphere to my core.
street opposite, out for a daytime walk,
I first spot his jacket. Like a binary star
my son rising pixelated on
the far horizon: those bits I own
as atmosphere to my core.
He continues to not see me, tuned
to other kids, scoring diacritics
on the utility pole. What is, emptying
what was: the edifice I know
as lent, soul temporal, inscribing
duration, the middle of the end.
Whether or not I walk on, I do
and I don’t. When I go, he’ll be gone.
