or Fire

I wake early, too early, the street is still dark and quiet, save for a few grumbles from those who live below my window, and a man walking his dog. Windows are dark down the avenue, it feels like jet lag. I am awake when I should not be. I am awake when the world belongs to only me.

I brought back coffee to the warmth of my bed, pulled out a book, like the hours were a gift. The lightness in my body is back, all the dread ran out of it yesterday with the appearance of cherry blossoms, with miles beneath my feet. The burning in my chest, however, remains. I don't want to tell you about it, yet, we all know too much now what the embers mean, it's the only thing we know anymore. Have you noticed the sirens go missing? There's not much to yell about when everything is a state of emergency. It's time to look for a thermometer. I wonder if yelling exacerbates it.

But the cherry blossoms bloom early in Brooklyn this year, earlier perhaps than ever, the daffodils have all but drowned the East River promenade and the ginkgos are sprouting on southfacing streets, we are dying by the thousands but the Universe is not. I've seen the lights go out on Broadway, but there's more to it than that.