Under that stifling proto-summer heat

the evergreens sag

and the past-dusk sky

holds burning red Mars

air clear

and turbulence low

he’s reflecting the missing sun.

Two men stand under a street lamp

smoking a joint

they pass

back and forth

conversing in Spanglish

and I am hearing in memory

Beethoven’s Romance for Violin

and the dog squats to pee.


I want it to be winter

or late fall when the air is crisp

and biting at night,

frost in the early morning

as new constellations

roll over in the sky.

When voices hit deadened

by solidifying air

and time is shorter during the day

circadian rhythms prepping for