Maybe,
            we have all that we need.
There’s a can of chickpeas
            in the cupboard,
some paprika & coriander on the shelf.
A beautiful bartender just down the block—
            a decade away in either direction.

American Football & the halftime show.
An empty nursery upstairs,
            unwritten poems for wallpaper.
A tomorrow on the calendar
            with yesterday’s blood
coursing through its May/December veins.

And outside:
            a night so black
            it’s just begging
            to be danced through.

When I cast my gaze though,
I’m always searching
            for what’s just out of frame.
The ghost that nudged
            that swaying hanger,
the last century.

Even right now,
            as the orange moon
grows fat as a happy husband,
            & I’m staring at Kristine
            sleeping on the couch,


I want to know
what she’s dreaming. 

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