City
This woman, she sits
on bottle caps and ashes
fallen from midnight
cigarettes. Grinding
her teeth against ticking
second hands
and her own breath,
waiting
for anything.
She jots down things
she recalls : a tumbleweed
in Santa Fe, driving
in a dust storm
through Searchlight,
two a.m. lightning
illuminating the highway
outside of Salina.
a world full of cities.
In Rittman,
an hour or so away
from her, a city of sleeping:
He is laying, hands
at his sides under
the cold November sky,
recalling the red of her hair
the first time he held her.
pea river journal 
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