Something Like We Did IV

Tim Seibles

Wind in the leaves

of the live oak next door

and the June bugs

click-click

hard bodies

hitting the screen.

Couldn’t tell how much

time had passed.

Light from traffic

on the ceiling.

Late   that sound

in the sky   soft.

Thinking out loud

then inside my head:

they were still there—

the way they walked

that bright flicker

in their chests.

Sometimes I have believed

I don’t belong

here—   I mean

it’s not just

the American insanities

but everywhere: the sense

of having been left

on Earth

with no explanation—

a mouse dropped in a maze