it is 8:30 am wednesday in charlottesville
One of those mornings of itching body
and stretching muscles
one where i eat cinnamon toast on the porch and
reflect on the shadow of the leafs in the streetlight
on the white cars last night. like the scattering
of a dark bouquet. then was 10 pm and almost bedtime
i grow so tired now that the air
hurts to breathe it is so warm and wet
and so absent of my love, who is so far away.

and i bloodlet on the harshness of the toasted bread,
and i pine and ache and try to forget,
and the scattering
of the dark bouquet is never finished.