the glass screen
gleaming
like a blue diamond
in the drugstore dusk
no shade
only the ancient brick
sweating gold
and the wild sweet
gasoline breath
of the intersection
the boots
rotting in the heavy heat
open like a dark mouth
we don’t count
the days
anymore
the town
is a secret archive
of stone steps
and white sun
down on the bluff
the vast water
runs its cool indifferent green
all the way to the other shore
which belongs to someone else
and always has
the lovers
watch the sky go dark
from the high tiers
and don’t move
i gather
the small holy weight
of you
into the damp cotton
our skin
clinging like wet film
in the tall weeds
we walk
where the sidewalk
dissolves
into the pink shale
and the glittering
lake dross
no one
is searching for us
the sky
is a blank white page
—lyra moon (we are the only things left uncollected in the sun)
july 7, 2026