yom kippur

how is everything lined up on our desk,
not in wavelength order but an arrangement that suits
every conceivable shade
representing with at least a stripe or two,

pictures scattering everywhere, unframed and framed,
an old bedframe, some hallucination painted on--
four walls don't make a room when rain makes like
shaking dice that will never be thrown

we dropped it but quickly found another
i'm sure you've experienced that kind of thing before
carrying packages isn't instinct-- it's walking
halogen bulbs setting small circular tables in daylight

taxis filling with people whether they are visible or not
trees lighting up in spotlights stuck in concrete
the windows are butterfly nets, though there are only a few moths up here
my altitude is too late, and i swore i'd speak well of the place

pick up your phone, i heard it--
what are stairs that haven't been used?
and i already checked mine, it read like lights from distant buildings
one level taller than the next, for steppings that flicker,

but i know if i went there they would shine as unwaveringly as lighthouses,
and for beauty, sure, but the door is behind them for a reason--
their beams would be solid, symmetrical busstops, vegas waiting-cages
to an open window near you, a pocket of vacuum--

i'll take your sportscaster if you take my overheard
but then, we'd atone for what we meant to do at the time
the way that foreign students don't need to look
because the street is there and they are in the middle of it