It’s hard to focus on blankness
at day’s end or read my scrawl or
tell if I’ve said any thing at
all—go faster maybe it will
work when they pack up their cornhole
gear and move back to the converted
garage where the mildewed rent is still
too high. I want to spend some minutes
staring at the lawn in the lingering
light and write something you might want to
read with a flashlight at two or
three—something just a little bit
desperate but with clear honey
for lips covered in cuts and small wings
other animals 