Instead, I'm Here to Tell You Very Softly

I wished you saw it—the festival

lined our streets with white banners and if I seem

lost it's because the city held me

ransom and there were young girls

with baskets on every corner with tulips making

appeals for no rain, for the chalk paintings

on the sidewalks to not stream, to not muddy

or blur like the ruin of a New Year's party,

but the colors were everywhere, filling our sewers

and the sewers turned very beautiful with that

brought-in-from-the-ocean feeling you get

from nets full of fish, and yes, I wanted to eat

the hues but they were so quickly to the sea,

and yes, the white banners

sagged on the lampposts, and all the chalk art

was lost, sluiced, but softly, I'm here

to say that it's summer again and the undulant rows

of banners break my heart every time, every time

because when I tell you this you look so

kindred, so swift, so uncaught.