May Song
squashed its nose against my window.
A girl on a bicycle
was riding circles, singing,
waiting for me to come outside.
Locust petals underfoot
released a fragrance of bruised grapes.
Beneath clouds pregnant with rain
the girl, her dog, and I walked.
Our feet were caked with white flowers.
People cluttered the sidewalk.
The girl was singing, but softly.
When her dog stopped to piddle
against somebody's lilacs
she pretended not to notice.
Everybody smiled at us
but no one recognized her song.
Her song had no words; she hummed
the part she'd practiced all month,
the part for second violin.
Walking, we shed the blossoms.
Soon our shoes would be bare again.
The little dog tugged its leash.
It was going to rain, soon.
The girl raised her throat to the sky.