Grounds

Hours before sipping iced raspberry
green tea (the color
of irresistible smiles), she walked
the trail leading out

of town. Began with listening to the first
song on the first album Uncle
Tupelo recorded. Twenty
years ago today, she was still

not here. She believes
in increments. Wonders what happened
to all the percolators. In this green
café, the view of the old CC

across the street zigzags
off the map.

Toward 26th & Lyndale

Common Roots not the CC
these days. Urban beavers, the storms
of early summer leave barricades

to lake connecting channel paths
I want to follow. I bless
reversible steps—duck and dart

back through without
a scratch. Not going to play pool
in a darkened bar on a sunny afternoon

the way we used to waste
time. I’m still learning the definition

of precious. You’re in it—
and gone forever.