No wind that night. Hotter
than it should be. More
smashed pumpkins scatter

beneath the ridge. Why
not say it’s an homage
to the city’s own

devil’s backbone? What

was the dead mouse’s tragic
flaw? Being a teacher’s pet
in the wrong classroom. When

I cut myself on a branch beside
a wooden bench in the woods
to once again expose the color blue

as merely optical illusion.