Did you see that Styrofoam through the fog
before your tires crushed it into the asphalt?
What about the white apparition,
scurrying with four furry legs?
What about the one with eight,
in between the crease where the wall
meets the ceiling?
What about the one with hundreds,
resting innocently upon troubled lids, too-often blinking?

up, down
cheek-touch, brow,
close, far,
shut, ajar

What about the rushed kiss and hushed breath after seeing that star?
And the bashful blush behind the midnight "just-stopping-by" car?

What do you think is the difference between a great writer and the greater?
An actor and an amateur?
A lover or a faker?
The attitude. The verisimilitude.

Do I dare take my shoes off?
Should I re-lace them now or later?

I'm worried you'll replace me with wisdom of the moon
and its' every phase and crater.