Apparition Poem #1147


Moments when she let her hair
down & out- lank-dyed, dirty
blonde, fluffed with fingers, in
sunset's drowse, at the Drop before-

in the years it took me to see
the wind of what she was in
the world- prize two-minute
porridge- the sun would set

also on the nights I scoped
her as though she were something,
& we ourselves more solid than not-