At the Last Bend of Creation

Wordless vocals wind around
The courtyard of Coyote Gulch

And wind has nothing much to do
With them or you, me or the singing

Of the small birds hidden from these.
The cafe is closing soon, but don't

Indulge your incessant longing
For nostalgia for an end. It reopens

Every morning, as it has done
Since before I found this two-

Top stop in the fragmentary shade.
Odysseus never knew who was

Who when the underground opened
For him. Everyone's thirsty, now and then.