Dare

Not, this time, to infer but to wait you out between regret and parking lot somewhere in the day like a dare Salt grime and the foodcarts’ rising steam, at Prospect St. a goshawk huge and aloof, picking at something, nested in twigs and police tape for a while we all held our phones up It is relentless, the suddenness of every other song, creature, neighbor as though this life would prove you only by turning into itself