Rain washing night’s veneers off blacktop
as he waits, blowing smoke at bridge legs.
His walk, so far, punctuated by squalls
and a barista’s caffeinated chirps.
Waking thoughts tattooed on the wing
of a dream let to fly, his solo print left
cooling on blue sheets, he drinks in dawn
with a java back, sky the color of gravel.
The neon eyes of city night closing,
traffic returns to its toxic usual, exhaust
black on yellow brake squeal turns, radio
tunes, angry horns, shouts, all spun through rain.
Preparing a speech for delivery to a mirror,
his trust calibrated in layers of spine, he lip-syncs
intentions and promises to his soul, the hut halo
of his umbrella pumped up inside downpour.
Standing beside the bench cross-hatched with
initials added together, living the beauty
that flies into ash after embers subside,
he thinks of her, on a beachside jaunt.
He sees her walking between trees
that hold the shapes of wind,
a cloud-break dancing sun slants
over sand as she removes her shoes.