something to find in
the yard and paint chips from
the neighbors drift
down long dry, lead dead
skin. the dog tries to eat them

now, though surely i
cannot keep up? the day is chipping away

at me
i am not the kind to laugh
and laugh.
no i am not kind, i would share

my neighbor’s, “ha, how’s it” across
the alley calling last week a doozy, were
i not counting chips through my head

philosophizing about everything: money
in us, the tree
falling in the metro park, hollow
conduit making a sound i

miss you when you’re here, the
time drains down like the bird seed
your bedroom laughter echoes. we are

alone again tonight and
humming to one
another while the dog’s asleep

glued, to our thoughts
of endless trajectories and phones,
you go to the kitchen to eat standing up
but isn’t it funny isn’t it funny that we miss

our old selves, outside the kitchen, outside
inside?