It’s not astonishing I don’t see
past the hem into the pocket of the passing man,
the teeth of the frowning woman at the park bench
past the horizon.
The leashed dog has forgotten his collar.
Tendons unflexed at what passes past the leash circumference.
He can’t dream of his own churled snout, though his mouth wets while
flocks of blackbirds ascend overpasses, over rush hour,
perform aerial calligrams to mock our lack of language.
Somewhere on the earth’s underbelly
someone picks lint from their bellybutton. Examines it
beneath flickered light.
There’s no highway sign that says exit here
and directs you where you’re going.
Perhaps its better I can’t imagine. I’ve forgotten you already.