a day in the town

come back inside, under the covers. it is too cold
for a tombing mother. you are so used to cobwebs pinching your cheeks.
they babysit you on tuesdays. I apologize
for my absence. too busy for the hills, and the trains.

there is an absence of conductors and women. so I was put to work, in badges and
batons. we are flying each day. 150 under the bridge,
passengers fasten their hair, wheels light their
ropes, oh it all feels like you miss me.

the windows pass stumps that make out your face. you are olive trees,
wanting to produce women like me. but the branches smoke
so easily, nursing to graves like cypress. planted to resuscitate
your voice, only you coo to the birds.