You didn’t – Tongo Eisen-Martin

the sun burns loudest

when it’s now

happiest hour

everywhere-time

illuming caravans, shopping

carts, baby doll-dented heads,

a whiskey-stained wedding album,

golden, fossilized baby shoes grasping a tie

to the edge of humanity,

the 8th marker at Ocean Beach,

to watch the last dinosaurs

and what a crow carries under

its wings, secrets

it has on the wind—

an ashen woman, quiescent,

a carton of Lucerne milk

toasting in the already cruel

elements, a spoiling

a raised glass—their newest

Dogpatch beer

gardens and sand

do not answer to chronology