IN VINCULUM

A ribbon of windows shadowed
on the wall, the flash of a passing
car pierce the morning with their
temporary light. The day proposes.

Across the street I see a woman
with a German Shepherd. A toddler
runs to hold her hand, attaching
their stories. Under different trees

I wander, listless. Is it mere nostalgic
sentiment that lingers “Dancing In the Dark”
or “Eleanor Rigby”? The minor notes
connect like the sound of water flooding

or falling over rocks. Hearing is less
tangible than appearance. As the words
sweet oranges leave my lips, does your
mouth salivate? Silence also has its links.