Untitled (When time settles)

When time settles in and I can’t wander away

and can’t not think of you as the coming one, living my life, standing by an open

window as if worn out from work or some arduous commute

When afternoon puts a blue sky and white clouds upon extraordinary buildings and

tufts of cottonwood rise up twenty-two floors

Like a lake that will not dim, or an island the color of olives, or the bright blur of a

mountain behind them

Or that the one voice that rises isn’t personal, or that car honking

Like the breeze in my shirt, from every

direction, without so much

as an evening