A stranger asks
if this is all
I want to do
with my life—be
a synonym
or antonym. I know the art

of silence, how to resist
a reply, how to avert
the eyes. I know how
to make anyone
walk away. Know
the loneliness

of a skyway
on a Sunday
afternoon. Exhaust
hues get bundled
into a string
of knotted pearls

a woman might wear
one evening
too easily ruined
by a broken
traffic light
in just fallen snow.

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