Paying Attention

He is not doing well. She is not

“Doing well.” They are not doing well.

And so the new day blooms with its

Frills held tight across the window.

If I could know that which resembles

Me, if I could taste the insistences

Of dusk, I would rise from the shocked

Grass and imagine a shelter of miniature

Tides. Trouble always follows me. If 

I left for some other clime, I would

Be confronted with the sparkling repose

Of hours for a little while, and then 

The hammer would come down like

The sides of a city avenue over me.

And so I stay, oh, I stay, and I report

The greenness of the alphabet disappearing

Over my faded jeans. X, you

Have witnessed every disaster, and I know

You know it’s true. Still, that is no reason

To stop running, like an untraceable phone.