may have marred my lungs—
ill-equipped—as i unzipped
a large sheath of plastic;

& it opened
to asbestos

on the second floor, only
so many minutes before

our meeting—without
offer of flowers, or note

—feeling; hope
more alive than
anything i'd pick.

if this isn't ok, to
jump from a window.

the exits have been blocked
by fans & huge blades; since
ventilators were breathing in

for dead men.
we walked, hit
2 grocery stores,
just under 3 hours.

you stood, waited @ one,
then we sat in front of another;
had sandwich meat between us.

was a rose
the lion found

his lamb inedible—here,
healed miracle children once
held hands on an enamel wall.

finished with breath,
hot as summer is; now,
in its shallow end . . .

taking a drink
from your water

bottle; my car followed,
on your dad's bumper; red lights
flashed twice. his license plate holder; held,
as that last name was sounded out—a nearby town
—but, both well-known words were annulled;

our families, common, quietly contained. honk.