for the anonymous poet
Here is your resurrected cherry blossom, your loud neighbor, the sharp crescendo
of a buzz saw. Here is your whiff of sunscreen on a warm Saturday,
the donut with its rainbow sprinkles, a little girl with sugar dust tucked
into her dimples. Here is your back porch, your evening cocktail of dog walk and bourbon.
Here is your dent on the couch where two bodies watch television to prelude sleep.
Here is a police report on the inside front page and an ad for garage-door openers
on the back. Here is your found letter and the old dirt road it travels down. Here
is a phone that keeps ringing and the one that never does. This is for you,
anonymous poet, who cups an ear to the day's worn gloss, believing something -
everything - deserves to be heard. This is for you, poet, who knows how to listen.