i_still_talk_to_rabbits raze yesterday a stillborn cyclone scattered strips of hollow gold everywhere i looked. a reminder that there are no seasons in this city. just one long dissonant song they never play on the radio. today the clouds are clustered inkblots on the first page of a poem the sky wrote without meaning to. the last lines give us a moon too tired to swell to its true size. you sleep through the second stanza in a bed of greens and wake to find me standing vigil on my front porch. you turn your face to the place you came from. hear it call your name. "be safe," i say before walking away, knowing hope is a threadbare balm at best. i carry it with me like a curse i can't cleanse myself of. 260626 what's it to you? who go blather from