I Do A Lot Of Wishing These Days

He stands,
as bright as the streetlight,
just as tall
outside, on another street
that I’d like to know

his hand is empty
his heart put out in the concrete
under cigarette ash

my blood is a drum roll
I am timed by his steps,
paralyzed

but this does not exist
this night is a blanket hanging
over the sun
and we will fade

just like before
when, at first, we planted
seeds in the beautiful dark
then fed them vegetable oil
by mistake

I wish you were real

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