That summer one-eyed jacks were wild:
we learned new rules, left tea to brew.
Smoke stilled air. Leaves lay unturned.
Unemployment was another high.
I had been a storm in a polystyrene cup,
seeking scald, steam, instance, but now
We drew up lists; mapped out desire lines; skipped
interviews to collect blooms; paused before flight.
The only record of that time the silt of prophecy,
the memory of weight in our cupped hands.
For a short while we held the one breath:
I could never set it down.