I wouldn’t try to capture it

on the page, or in a blog, the inauspicious

leavings of a day. Closer to dream

than the hum of streets, and people

who once walked along them.

Yeah, I know. Know what I’m saying?

The grounds were ultimately too large for the compound.

A tree takes flight, and patterns are coaxed

into recurring on adjacent walls,

out of thin air.

No such titan ever visited

during my days as aedile. Yet wisps

still buttonhole us in random moats:

Was it this you were expecting,

and if not, why not?