Someone’s Valentine

Her skirt a scaffold a prelude a

far siren through knotted streets

(here passing the palmist’s door)

sheen of rails nickel smudge

her receipt for rain her ticket

to the forest vermilion moon now showing

even in this light—plush forthcoming

moving further out

into the heart—when a peacock

appears no one remembers anything else


cold row of trees along the sidewalk

one tiny hatted flower that sways

astonished   she’ll note

evening cantilevered under clouds

feeling netted    but unstrung

for roughly six stops

he waves like a banner blurs the eye

his colorless hands   his gray

partition stance    he seems random

naked    almost with wings

she steps forward yet

one footsole remains pressed

the energy held    before release

After Brice Marden

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