Hurling stones at the sun I must have
hurt someone. But when the radio
and the river fray
out of phase
from now, from now
I doubt that I am here. For whose safety
am I being filmed, bicycling
diagrams to be deciphered from above, wearing
whose black dress to ash?
From all appearances, I am
cold and incur debt as the face of the clock
in the distance switches fogs.