A girl disappears in the underpass

escaping a man who cries after her.

When my earthly life comes to an end, she thinks,

I’ll go to Italy and I’ll spend my days

squabbling with neighbors across the balcony, until then

I need to think small, I need to think: Alexandria,

a light seeped through lemon essence.

I said it once aloud on the bus.

Do they have caskets there so big to fit

a bus and the rest of Greek lacrimosa jars? And hawthorn

smelled beautifully. How finely do you have to crush me

to get the dye you’re chasing?