up in funk and rhythm,
and shade cascades over storm cloud lace, and brown brick faced
urban children,
streetcar rattle taps out coded memories
of shampooed hair on unmade beds
--unknown pillows in shadowy, bright nights.
Exhausted in a wake of empty cars stopped at lights--
the memory of you
waiting, and passing through.
Do you remember me, like I do?
the me that wasn't true.
The empty heat that blew through you--leaving.
The storm I awoke to in the calm, sleepless morning.
The rain that almost fell.
before || after
