Suddenly

Griefs wash over me like a tide.
What am I doing with my life
on this bright September day?

Outrage
is a coat:
You gets cold
from having no one to hold.

The sun is glued
to the sky,
a yellow bean
on a naked blue,
a feverish sheen
on strangers’ shoes,
and the throat’s a little tight,
and the heart comes asunder
with no murmur, no sigh.