the slushing of shoes this side of fiction
when celluloid reels have flickered out—
multiplex parking lots reveal more
when little paper ships tremble in shallow pools
we walk to our cars with raisinette toothaches.

people will move along to
bars, kitchens & fast-food restaurants.
they move to repeat their images in
halogen headlights & dusk light—
pink & portentous to make the asphalt
glow like the green of a baseball diamond
beneath stadium lights.

there is a hole in the real
that only blank light can fill.
too much is left cut & crumpled in
wastebaskets or festers like a toothache
as we stare into spring puddles where our reflections are so beautiful.