overcast morning. twelve-plus years at one address packed into boxes.
hidden in the pile of black and wet autumn leaves, my dog’s old chew toy.
old super-8 reel, home movie from growing up. but how to watch it?
no one on the bus notices the silver fog carpeting the bay.
taking out the trash, just in time to hear the owl’s cry.
evening rain embroiders downtown streets. wish I were home.
worker leaves office, pops a cigarette first thing. lighter goes: chik, chik.
vintage ‘french’ postcards, beautiful girls with coy looks. what were their lives like?