Sounds a bit like a little girl asleep,
in a hammock on a porch,
or the aurora borealis, or Chinese
peonies. Not like this:
Chest closing like an angry fist,
newspaper falling in slow whispers to the floor, as
coffee cups, the green chair, the dog
turn to darkened air, a pinpoint of light
painfully blossoming in the sudden dusk.
A dim smell, something feared,
or half-forgotten. Why would I remember?
Who would I tell?