These colors under the wind
Where heat blankets the streets
& Crows on tops of buildings scream
Enter us & make us sing

Like that woman walking away
There is a yesterday she can’t imagine
A present tensed in a jar
Replete with idioms & signage

A mote of dust for the scantily tanned
Offshoots brimmed with turbulence
Is not the news of the day we’d wavered
Stiff with the twists of remote brightness

Until sex loosens the tongue
Or its surrogates in flaunted robes
Wishing for a midnight skim
Or whatever else they’d wandered in