Flat

Movement is rigid on concrete paths
Twisting my neck to listen
to the bellowing train; it sounds like birds to me

Then the dog yaps forcefully
 

I take off the sunglasses to see 

Checking credit balances to visit the idea of decent wine

We are flat-broke
I taste the pithy breaths of air instead
 
He was burning hot
He was so sorry when I left
I feel a pull back to his side
as I notice the permeating light from a repentant sun

But I do not go back; I choose the alleyway

I let my thoughts trace an urge to run bare in the tree-cob acreage 

The cold air is challenging for the man chopping wood 

We have on the same utility coats 

To protect our breasts from the buzz of electricity
To avoid injuring the heart

Walking past the community garden
I decide there is no harm in a 9-dollar bottle of red
Besides, nobody has removed the felled ginkgo tree 

And the roots took a fence pile up with it

What does any of it matter?

I walk deeper

I am never alone anymore
not often

He wants more sex, more wanton nights
I want more running and jumping, too

His body won't always work that well
He’s much older than me
I should get my money’s worth now
  

I approach the ice-covered pond
and decide there’s a metaphor in there somewhere 
But I am tired 
I know better
I am full of mistrust 
And the sun is turning everything an apologetic coral

And I watch as the dove lands gently on the rime