we saw the stars tonight

from the stoop, smoking

under the overhang

of woven tree limbs.

have you known a sky

without a city?

stars that pour their light

into rivers that breath

where trees drink

beside them?

my city is perched

on the bones

of its past, the ghost

of the river swells

and recedes

and is perfect glass

on quiet nights;

and the bridges cross

east to west.

the night's alright

with the rain

and the porch light on-

(sometimes

you're so sweet to me)

the rain's falling

harder now,

splashing

on the roof of the porch

tiny dispersions

fickle clarity

some days

i am unaccustomed

to this

it feels odd,

cumbersome...

and i understand

perfectly

why the dogs bark

at the neighbor

and why they are

quietly watching the wind

through the tendril branches

of the birch tree

modern love

when we have

times like this

my mind calls

on the most

useless things

like that scene

in forrest gump

when he wipes his face

on another mans

tee shirt

sparking

a national craze

i just get

more upset, really

because

i dont even like

that movie,

and its all

i can think about.