A tangled bit of lie,
letting go the bridge's stare

on windows of shops
across the street where we
sat and drank tea.

We ate toast halves and sang

wet love songs when the
day moved west;
giving liberal dues to Fog and

grass fed Winds blowing your
hair across your face and making

it harder to breath, think and see

what else mattered. I thought if tea
was free we could bet on the stars

and let them choose the light

that guides us. But the message
was lost on

graveled rooftops
of a city, indifferent to the rain

and the snarled streets below.

We left, to get out of the bridges eye,
tossing money on the
table and casting shadows of our

own. A nearly finished plan, well
dressed and cured for the night-

shaven neatly and laid upon
the concrete to be eaten

at leisure.