holy graffiti

by 9:30 I was back outside, sitting
on a park bench all crimson scarlet
in my dress, huddled under my
black umbrella, wearing my blackest shoes.
the little bits of water that fell on my knees were
infant worlds where I hung,
tiny and upside-down.

I'd left a note on your countertop
among the freckled fragments of old food
and no-wise papers, and right on time
you came to join me; holding hands through
red yarn mittens and softly getting wet,
we raised a prayer to the holy graffiti and
bent low at the altar of black-gum sidewalks.

later:
you bought me
cherry-flavoured penny-candy.
I bought you a tiny bark sarcophagus at a souvenir shop.