225. Things You Realize before It’s Too Late

With the sun at your back,
your shadow precedes you.

The hole in the guitar
doesn’t hold in sound.

The crack in a neck
at the point of a hug.

Names painted onto
the walls beside you.

A foot too cold,
or foot too hot.

With the snow at your feet,
you sink forward and walk.

A film redeemed
by the way it ends.

No person enough
to be the world.

Temporary,
temperate.

Number of dogs in a dog park
equals or exceeds the humans.

A couple is al-
most a couplet.

We keep going
until we stop.

Your breath rises,
your head falls to.

Your voice’s visible
only in the winter.

New Jersey
is still new.

Thumbs
as drums.

No miracle but
a street’s there.

When wind blows at your
walking your face is clear.

Balance
is an act.

Never too late
to stay under.

Night’s poem’s
a letter to you.

Only a few opportunities
to exchange a few words.

A fall is
a reason.

T’enter’s
to leave.

There’s a
hook in it.

When you are out of words,
you replace them with words.

Audience
as aura.

Record
of it, A.

What we save,
what we have.

A time for sleep,
a need for tide.

Good
night