the bright surface of an eventful situation

it’s the beauty which passes

who will never know you.

it’s the beauty which passes

you cannot reach and yet

you take it with you

like you would the cuffs

of your sleeves

like an afterthought

like a bag

of takeout Chinese, or

the dream anticipated

which evaporates before its end.

your span of life charts the cycles

of loves and departures

of planets and stars and recurring pets

which come and go from backyard funerals.

it’s the bright surface of the gleaming

fender in ’58 which reflects an annual

impression.

it’s that which is responsible for this poem.