On the night of the Waning Gibbis
she ran
golden in line to meet me
to her death
did she know?
the dog committing
suicide
tumbled her last breath

Last Dog

In her orange dress
she tumbles
her last breath
dancing
across the sea

Once on the Motor bike

Paramedics make flight
as the disc sails over storage
past mini malls
I ride to the top
of Franc Street
where she, continuing her ascent--
makes a mistep in not telling you
how nice it is to sleep next to you
not because you're warm
but that you don't mind being
close

sirens singing
during the harvest moon's
climb to glory