Small Stone

Some hot October
afternoon she leaves
you as abruptly as she rediscovered

your appeal. Death
doesn’t placate those of us
in the heat or near miss

lovers under any shape
moon.

After School Prey

Rabbits and voles whip
across a city sidewalk. Still,
the leaves don’t fall.

I can almost feel the heat
of your tobacco-flavored breath
against my cheek

as you whisper ghostly
nothings in my ear. Still,
the leaves don’t fall.