for everything which is yes

The tract homes, with their
lifeless stares, faced the field like
a police lineup.

Tonight I raise my
G & T to the tiny
hint of what might be.

Friday: The best to
come home to that which is yours
to have and to hold

Mike refused to bunt.
Jess, when pulled, threw a tantrum.
I may have lost them.

Tears fell too. Before
that, their bodies. Ground down, all
ends have gravety.

The leaves fell tonight,
two weeks too early, their full
colors a figment.

As if God were the
postman, and I could–from here–
just order online.