All the pretty things you do
the way you lean outward
against the window of the train everyday

At the failing of summer
just when autumn is breaking
the pavement with its strong back,

“If we have a turtle we’ll name him Michael,
or Michelle if it’s a she,” she says.

She has other plans. “Be careful,” she says, “an egg
must be taken good care of when it comes to you
like this from maybe heaven.” I think it’s a duck.

He used to know so
much—had mastered
dead languages, could

Their sorrow is something like
buyer’s remorse. They chose
their paths but now regret it,

On no set schedule it roams
the streets with nothing
written on its forehead.

Moths bat their brains to powder
against the streetlight

This morning there was another one
Looking used but not worn out
Beside the road
What do they mean

Smooth muscles tic. Honeyed sunlight
spreads thickly on stadium grass. 
Drinkers of grace shout throats dry,