At the computer, warm March night not far
I hate to say it, from the end of the world
I suddenly become aware of the sound of wind
over the steady hums and tweets of my computer
as I read someone’s words on the imaginary piece of paper
in front of me, words about death, then another poem,
death too, both by this young woman born a year or two
before I graduated high school. I hear it whine
it has someplace it has to go it doesn’t want to go.
open the window, feel its vague caress inside my shirt,
draw into me an ambulance, a farting car,
a motorcycle screech far up a distant street,
smell of rain washes over me once again before it arrives
too late to save us from ourselves.