The setting sun’s golden shapes
dart about the tiny fiefdom
of a parking lot
where I am talking
to myself again when
I should be listening
to the blades that squeeze
up through the cracks.
They may have
important things
to tell that I should know
like how to stake
a claim to life
in this forsaken world.
And though the night and I
just shrugged them off,
look now how
I remember them.
