Always a bit of gravel
or tar stuck to the bottom
of my shoe. Seldom
anyone watching
when I knock it off.

Haven’t studied a piece
of sculpture in over a month.
Longer for a painting
on a wall or dance performance
on some specific site.

I’m using
pretzel formation
to collect images
to keep from losing
my mind—you are gone.

How long do I wallow
in your death?
It was so long ago,
your kisses tasted
like smoke, not mine.