the tin whir of an AC fan-

turning the corner it

                   disappears

further, a splash from the pool

on, the tap of my sandals
i stop to notice the sky
hat raised, been this long?

is this okay? to hold like this,
look around, this being out-
i must seem strange,

pushing my glasses up,

singular wheel, jagged jerks

odd, advances Spring


� 2005 by John Eivaz