Leap In The Dark
I.
Stoplights edged the licorice street with ribbon,
neon embroidering wet sidewalks. She turned
into the driveway and leaped in the dark. A blackbird
perched on the bouncing twig of a maple, heard
her whisper, “Stranger, lover, the lost days are over.
While I walk from car to door, something inward opens
like four o’ clocks in rain. Earth, cold from autumn,
pulls me. I can’ t breathe the same