It was hotter back then.
No, it wasn’t it had to be cooler, clouded.
A park down below where no one ever met.
But men were pulled by dogs along paths made by the walkers.
And a nameless river through a photograph of woods
proposed a nonlocal reality
that shimmered at the instant of its own disappearance.
She bought the picture, brought it back, propped it against drywall
where someone had penciled a message
she couldn’t make out.
The end of another summer wandered across yards
that weren’t fenced or watered.
If it rained, it rained.
And then the rain inebriated us.
A yellow leaf floated toward ground
transmitting a spot of optimism
through a slow intensification of color in the lower corner of the morning.
Copyright © 2008 C.D. Wright
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.