after Kim Addonizio
Like thorns that announce the petal.
The erratic kindness, a smattering of good deeds.
A morning destination sunk back into sand.
An eruption of thirst, drown in it.
Sometimes you appear like a far harbor.
Gasping boats swim to you.
Sometimes you are the baggage unclaimed.
The reassuring whir, a repetition that can only be mechanical.
You fall asleep missing the company of crickets.
Their mating songs calm you.
The abandoned attraction.
You check your reflection. Are you window or mirror?
That time you were yourself.
That time it was suddenly past midnight.
That time you resembled the exotic.
The smoke and the aftertaste, the scratchy respite at the back of your throat.
And, once a month, a bright penny of moon.
