Always it’s putting two things together
that don’t necessarily belong there
_       _ —Gerald Stern, “Two Things”

a voice on the corner
shouting in the face of night
liquor bickering with conscience
sleep with desire

a picket fence with a gate
you might step over
kitchen windows cranked
open to the street

and the smell of lilacs
entering like a ghost
searching for a single
hesitation to haunt