How soon could we regret…

The low-stress rumble..

She’s washing the onyx wall..

in the narrow trough…

the tiny jacks…

A sullen face..

The three ladies..


Emergent sudden..

With much retrieval..

As cool yet..

At a small table..

Down towards the Hudson River..

The street unfolds..

there in a fretwork of words…

A dear friend.

and you know what else…