The first wash of June, the first steps since
ear buds sank soundly in, Phoenix and kids
the concrete, "It smells like the day Peary died"
these
Simple every-things that can't quite
cross the bold - dividing lines
of the shaded, pastel quadrilaterals,
that hush
us
and our days/(daze)
Yet, I am just (a) woman
one,
of many