Arbiter of jaybird squabbles,
Beekeeper of fading light,
Unfurl yourself like a tablecloth
Over everything.
Silence of summer insects,
Soft-booted footsteps
And distant diesel engines,
Content yourself
Keeping a quiet, empty street
Just that quiet and empty.
You give no word of your arrival,
Just a brief hush afterwards
As after a little girl
Gasps in a silent movie.
Sunday afternoon silence
Falling like knives,
Leaving no trace of ever having been here,
Leaving only the street behind
Where it takes a trained eye to tell
You’ve ever made an impression.
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