Illegible scrawl creates a collision
on a freakishly cold, rainy morning
She wears a knit cap. Tree pollen
ruins her for anyone
who crosses this crooked line.
Nothing against those blooming
northern pin oaks. Misery clears
an unwanted swath
through an urban forest
of steet signs and boulevard droops.
How did she get from tree
lawn to boulevard? By way of berm
to hellstrip to swale to snow shelf
on the verge of bursting forth
along a line of maidenhair trees,
dewy green blades might reply.
Extreme weather cleaves another
station where she might have met you
during a calmer time.
A crawler reaches for the sky
so that vegetables with dirt on them
might take us the rest of the way.