reading Rudolph Steiner's The Philosophy of Freedom.
the possibility of autumn.
the R train to Manhattan.
a neighbor sweeping leaves like it’s a sacred duty.
kids kicking a deflated soccer ball down 74th.
the sun snagging on brick row houses, refusing to leave.
the laundromat neon flickering.
I pause by the dented mailbox on 71st.
asking why it feels like it wants to whisper.
go on, there’s still time, it says.