If the barrel rolls
and goes unmissed until spring
was it ever lost?

In wisteria,
the remains of a feline
she dies when we die

Hot sauce on pizza
the man’s wife died this morning,
chatter in Russian

The lost magician,
our supervisor runs out
to give directions.

I had not wanted
to give up on this ball-point,
almost New Year’s.

Black dog on a leash
the lady with half a face
tinkles the piano.

Plans for the New Year:
music again, in the street,
and maybe a choir.

Car tires on gravel
or, the drizzle, come again
which one sounds thicker?

Electric snowflakes
blinking on the crane, but fog
beckons the New Year.

My resolutions?
watching white lights in the fog
that’s all I can do.

The sound of the wind
strong and then away so swift
the sidewalk holds fast.

I must ask of you
where can anybody go
that I can’t hear them?

Morning reminds me
I cannot acknowledge death
above a whisper

On the half-hour bus
old man with a hearing aid
teaching her street names.

In a church doorway
piss-stained, he pulls up his pants
refusing my food.

Single cough from the
sidewalk, but thick enough to
cover the whole street.

Optimistic smile
as he casts all his loose change
to the shelter roof.

Six pigeons, one streetlamp
how many disputed fares
happen below?