Evening, and an Xed out date.
Candles lay in a pool of wax, drooped
in the hunch it was coming.
A table cloth sighed at the corners.
We could turn the page to May perhaps
try a Tuesday for a chance there’s a moon,
or count the days between the doors,
where shadows hold siege to the sills.
Jackhammers and jays turn up the dawn,
while clouds porpoise their alternate shades.
My hands lie flat in my lap and face the sun,
tracing a path through the lines in my palms.