The Fire Stays in Red

    End of December and the green of King Saul Avenue

    copies itself from leaves， the fire

    remains in red and the yellow is yellow. Tonight

    during intervals of sudden rain she talks

    of Martin Buber. Such a Hidden Light from traffic signals

    and car beams. And in my body her words suspended

    like electric wires， under which the memory of her

    swirls， a cropduster's acrobatics.