on a walk one night before the rain

books are in the back, coffee up front. you walk in empty, you leave full. you walk in heavy, you leave light. eternal return. you look for glimpses of what you’ve been waiting for, but it’s never there when you expect it.

three men straddle the brick wall by the library. six-pack of woodchuck divided evenly, side by side. shooting the shit. they contemplate their day and their women and their existence between cigarettes and catcalls. someday they’ll figure it all out, but not tonight.

an old woman presses her nose against the glass, vintage dresses in a shop window. when she closes her eyes she can taste yesterday. a little girl, crawling on her hands and knees looking for her chalk balloons on the sidewalk. thought they would be there forever, but they must've flown away. you be yesterday, i'll be forever. you be chalk, i'll be fading fabric. we are the same, we are flying away.

five mailboxes all in a row, 1-2-3-4-5. a-b-c-d-e. roundabouts, one ways, dead ends. you’ll find me after the cemetery, after the train tracks, before the river. phantom pianos and lightning striking the porch, just to make sure you're awake.

gutted building, broken windows, first floor rented out for real cheap. it took so many years to get here, this used to be a mill, you know. now it’s for ghosts and beggars and it's just where you want to be.