28/365 - 32/365

Along the highway,
ahead of the approaching storm,
a crescent moon hangs
balanced in hesitation
between waxing or waning.
•
He sits in the sun—
every morning the same man,—
same intersection—
bags piled around him. The sun.
No, he keeps shaking. No. No!
•
Despite the dry winds,
and the extended drought's reach—
fireworks can be heard
across the dark neighborhoods,
splitting the night with echos.
•
Even a small kiss
on the baby's shoulder blades
leaves behind a mark—
the act of loving transforms
to unintended bruisings.
•
Baby in your arms.
You pace the room. Trying to calm
his fresh energy
which rolls him as a comet,
restless, ever in motion.