she's bullshitting you
that peach gLazy-red lemon meringue sunrise sweet-
ness, she pushes you down by the shoulders on-
to a bus stop bench and makes you wait
respect
brushes across Manhattan
do a better job than the bakeries,
working harder than the doughnut grinders and danish rollers and
chalky hands, tolled sweat,
delivering births for hours ahead of the sun
you can hear its voice through traffic
it can convince you this pattern is a warm and comfortable home of
colors that will descend upon you like a sky quilt
made from the calloused maternal grace that begs a whisper
to sleep, go back, look up, enjoy
but it grins, pulling back paintbrush or scepter
lets it all fade back to sunlit monochrome
makes you wait, again, hanging in its long arc of an earthly spin
until it lets you fall in love again.