The light in front of my apartment died.
Luckily the moon stands in full glory, tonight.
Dropping its reflection on the knobby,
arthritic fingers of the oak out front.
But as days shorten, the waning moon
neglects the patch of suffocated grass
where Rill unrolled her yoga mat to
mold her body in salute to the sun
stretching to the music of moving tires
that leave impressionable creek banks below
nearly sodden with unholy oil.
Luckily the uncompromising sign
“Verizon Wireless” – blinding, neon-
shines upon a crippled dandylion
a trooper swaying in the winter wind
rooted in its bed – a sidewalk suture