No More Delivery

On farmer’s market
day, she helps the blind
man find his time

to cross. The colors
of a vegetable stand meld
into one kaleidoscope

wish—to do
these things without
announcing them

as some addict’s letter
to the world. This is not
what Emily meant.

Timing Still Is

If she rushes, she can reach the farmers
market before metal saw 

horses get collapsed, planks
loaded onto the truck, leftover
watermelon rolled away. If 

she slows down, she might catch
a note or two trapped
inside clouds from last night’s concert 

under the stars in collision
with a 24-hour jack hammer
breaking up a bridge.