(iiiii iiiii iiiii iiiii iiii) candles form a frame around buttercream roses.

i exhale
           but (i) flame remains

thumbing through the great divorce twin engines force forward a valerian breeze. i venture out
for an evening stroll but the neighborhood softball games and ice cream truck’s music box jingle
melt into golden hour glances on crunchy september lawns

grayed street lights atop bus shelters. afternoon drizzles off of trench coat hemlines. newsprint
gums under boot prints. city intersections, a carousel of illuminated window sills

but no answer at the door

pupils remain shackled to highlighted passages. set to boil an afternoon daydream in a whole
milk latte. a caramelized drizzle bubbles over, coating

                                                                       pinky swears
                                                                          love lines
                                                                            whorls
                                                              palms gathered in prayer

dog-eared pages forge a shared theology lodged between crossed fingers. salutations. ink pen
journal entries addressed to thursday evenings

tomorrow. i will sit on the couch with my brother and sister and blue merle blueberry earl gray.
flipping through field notes reading into you like a

                                                                ten-page term paper
                                                           12-point times new roman
                                                                    single spaced
                                                                  one-inch margins

annotations by (Lady Madonna of the Dining Room Wall). raising her varnished hands and
leading a service for a congregation of stuffed bears, afternoon drizzles and lost causes

step, triple step, triple step. socks and sandals hit the pavement. one tonic and lime per waltz at
the century’s ballroom and i dip below your horizon. sunday second dinners at beth’s. run my
thumbprint along the coloring book page’s jagged edges. pour out crayons and scribble over line
drawings of suns with smiley faces

finish off the roll of tri-x. the f2a laments each frame’s soft focus. agitate 36 exposures coiled in
developer. here you float in between granules of silver gelatin. one month from september but
ten years gone draws concentric circles from the stereo and i twist the dial

conversations and refills of decaf. butter and warmed syrup melt into a midnight short stack

a booth for (i) extinguishes (iiiii iiiii iiiii iiiii iii) candles
                                                                                        and a life lesson