Quieta

The arc of her love, splices sunlit days, shines on her leather gloves, Macy's, the Five and Dime, New York alleyways, she notes the time, gives home a shove, in a moon that says, it’s your choice Bud, black and blue evening light, is when debt gets paid, nowhere’s out of mind, beneath the sod, truth somewhere delays, the uncaring flood, will they know she’s fine, why she prevaricates, a cold white star sign, measures her gaze.