A cat, resting on my warm tar roof
on a Summer night, is surprised
by thunder. My dog is barking.
I wake, thinking of someone.
But this is not about her.
The sun arrives with a garbage truck,
my room becomes light.
A radio comes on, and today
there will be a tidal wave
from Japan.
I should shave and wear a tie.
Afflicted by the mirror, I confess
this pain is all my fault.
But this is not about her.
The day goes by like yesterday
except for the tidal wave
which never comes, and the rain.
A little comes, but not for me.
I stay dry at my desk
thinking about new snow
and the absolute silence of it.
A young deer watching me
turning away into the trees.
But this is not about her.
