A page torn from a book
has fallen on the street.
She doesn’t stop
to discover which page, which book.
That upright piano abandoned
on the tree lawn a week ago
gets stripped of its parts
piece by piece, day by day.
She imagines all the black keys pried off,
dumped in a box a block away.
Sharps and flats slam against cardboard
desperate to escape.
Someone left an absolute beginner
guitar propped against a stonewall.
She doesn’t stop to check the model or make.
She just doesn’t stop.
The sun crashes
so suddenly this time of year.