The devil is in the thought

I watch the L passing. It is late.

Faces roll by, streaming, back-lit.

It is early, someone is buttoning my shirt.

The L is passing through my mind.

Aspects of the body click and brighten,

dim and damper.

"My heart is thinking," I hear myself say.

Nearby a bee is settling, a thimble of radiance.

Across the street a brick building climbs,

carrying the sun to its crown.

The sun is in vantage, pouring down,

reciprocating the last moment.

In the distance, some time, some place,

deep in the green,

a small naked woman holds a blue plastic box.

She knows a tiny person dwells within.

She has heard his voice, his music.

I brush my teeth, unable to reach any of this.

This is all so tentative, full.

This is all so contingent, empty.

Walk with me awhile.