sunday alone

The friction of the day waxes and wanes,  rubs the clouds against the sun
stretches the copperhead’s scales across the warmed stone that you came to sit on
the noon walk down the side walk takes you over a high bridge where you think briefly about cause and effect 
the bird falling,  diving from the roof only to really live
the ice cream truck driving past you,  playing a love song that gives you vertigo 

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