after so long,
weeks since any poem,
hardly need to say it
jobs inhabit your life
like gut microbes
1:25 am
men stoke the fire pit
by the poison shed
and the half-mowed field's
burrows and dry stalks;
laugh
into the heat,
shift,
a nervous dance
under useless stars.
look:
nothing
in my
soft palms
but
letters drop
onto the field
tetris
blocks
fill the gaps:
plunk
plunk
plunk
plunk
