It's still there, even when it's not there,
Ghost spring in the stride, working whistletone,
Makes the hammer on the actual flare
Something more than what is circling the stone,
A vapor layer of longing, concrete
As the glistening water sprayed on lawns.
You can hear, wafting past the homes like meat
The notes of someone conjuring the dawn.
She is shut off from this world, in darkness
Waiting for sounds to tumble out of strangeness,
A thousand private vagaries turned loud
To offend the neighborhood, for it is wrong,
But only because what's right is known
As soon as it breaks like the sun through cloud.
