I am not the one who controls what’s happening.
I am the one who understands what’s happening.
And by understanding I live. My eyes pursue
my shadow. I bewilder myself. The city flattens
its tone of voice, the fury of its traffic,
the never-ending breath of commerce. I feel
the day unhinge me and play me like my own
familiar misery. Piece by piece trees shelter
my yard from the sunlight I interpret with a glance.
Something reads me. Something in me
comprehends the light dying low like a simmering
pot. I hear this world roam. I witness the delight
of my trembling hands. The houses, muted in fog,
silence the breeze. No one else needs to know
how the neighborhood ends in a rocky ditch,
where sparrows come to flit and keep the woods