High above the asphalt morning: a murmur of clouds.
Rail tracks run like two straight thoughts.
The commuter train arrives with a thunk-a-
thunk that paves me over. Like the heart’s
fleshy balm—be better,
be better—it goes where it goes.
In my skull, nothing’s quite where I left it.
A marble rolls around, an outcome
when the outcome is unknown.
I too want to be parallel. Believe me
when I say that what I have and want
are different but not incompatible.
The morning lays its long hand on my face,
a hopeful spot in the mind’s airy patterns.
The breeze finger-puppets a slight of trees.
Light seesaws which way.
I take two Advil and call
the aches home,
count each blistered head
as they pass through the gate.