Nothing, really, mine or yours;
Except the marbles and the crackers,
But they’re all crumbs now, pigeon
food.
So toss them on the water, gently,
It’s getting darker faster now.
You squint to see your ragged sneakers.
You pluck a feather from the mud.
It’s colder now, but where’s your
jacket?
You must’ve left it in the car.
Listen, you hear them distant, softly
Voices of a couple walking.
The stars are out, as sharp as staples
On the dark pool of the sky,
The moon is crooked, bright, and little
A chilling breeze catches your hair.
Around the gravel at your feet
The wavelets lap like freezing tongues.
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