'tis a beautiful night
for new beginnings.
the air is just right and fair.
my sleeves are rolled up.
jackets are in jacket towns called closets.
I eat a slice of pepperoni pizza on the stoop
and tell myself to start eating healthier soon, tomorrow.
don't walk down this block
if you don't want to see me.
I am here with newness and air,
the number twelve,
and rats are joining me.
San Francisco emails find me,
make me smile,
because I was right: this is not the end.
hands are minor miracles
and mine smile across continents.
heat lightning finally shows itself
and promises to tell me the whole story in June;
once I am repaired.
mosquitoes make me say goodnight, dear.