come back grim man

these streets go rotten without your heavy breath

to refresh;

the crisp silver frost

the halo

on eucalypt

the balm on burning litter

in bins

and the long croak of the crow, his

black flickering

across my window

there where I watch for you

& worry

that even your twig of spring

cannot galvanize me
but see how I seek you still

the crumbling whispers of dry earth

heaving,

the stunning suicides

of cherry petals
and all the flat moments, too

the carnival

right after

that final somersault

and the same dead-eyed

hours between town A and town B
if I find you can you tell me, will you know exactly

what to do this time?

can you safely say

forever

in the kind of voice

that even our tombstones

will strain to hear?