Say you swabbed your heart,
took a sample of your past.
Would what got away be obvious?
The smoke next door says bread is born.
Neon construction netting longs to blend with flowers.
The bark of city trees, untended, tenderizes.
It’s too late in the century to talk cherry blossoms,
even if they rain. I circle the block, tap out your name,
see at last how the sun sticks to everything.