Following

I go to the door, check the lock again.
Poke through the mail.
The city is quiet. It sleeps
under a blanket of conflict and doubt.
Observe a rectangle of faint light
on the kitchen tile, follow it to its source.
End up this time
at the window watching the moon.

The not knowing
of what’s coming is very present;
what can possibly be generated
out of this still air, the darkly
coiled ivy; what areas
can be circled, what inventions
are even possible.