Where to go? February 4

same story, same twist
a fly is caught in a butterfly net.
This garden will not bear a flower – too early / too late,
this garden will dry, and crumble under your feet
waitng for a whiff of wind,
a whiff of wind
a misplaced relay of messages,
of sunlight, of pollen.
This same time tomorrow
I will be wiping my windows clean
looking down onto the street,
searching for bus to catch.