I can't hear the cars,
but I can see them;
the rush of tiny sun-reflections moving south, towards the suburbs.

I can't hear the footsteps,
old men in hand with little boys--
each crunching the crunchiest leaf,
and then the next crunchiest,
and then the next--

The postman;
the couch;
the Sunday afternoon.

my hair smells like cold
like that frozen ocean smell
like that laundry hanging out
in the wind,
just like the wind

i've gotta tell you
i've found beautiful sounds
in the crunchiest snow
and the highest tides i've ever seen

have you ever watched your heart
set with the sun
and rest in the receding tide?

a universal opening of the heart
breathing it in
breathing it out
cheers across the ocean
a transit of jupiter
and the smiling moon

shining like orion in the dark night
shaking the dust from my shoulders