Clouds half-light
the sidewalk, gossamer and dress.
The trees shake their fingertips
in the blousy afternoon.
The horizon’s slipknot
swallows the street.
Women pass arm in arm,
unrequited gazes. Areola clouds.
The sparrows twitter and punctuate.
Today’s desire winnows me down.
I want to unbutton the sky.
* * *
There’s a word
for the lift and take off,
the vanguard of wings, antiphonal and one.
There’s a word for that spark, the disappearance,
the flight.
I haven’t learned it
so I sit
as the shadow
covers this bench and that fountain.
