blooms on the trees once more, and windows thrown open to the night. certain birds that sing through the middle dark. on the way home from work I’ve been driving with the windows full down, warm wind whipping a cyclone of trash around the interior, inventing madcap hairstyles I check out in the rearview. more days and more days and more. the river runs foul through the center of town, flushing itself of debris again and again, posted all along with signs warning hands off, but ducks don’t read. my pillow sucks dreams into oblivion. I sit awake beneath the ticking fan, listening to engines passing, people out late in the park, a lone bird chorusing, a sudden staccato drumbeat, then nothing.