Ants announce spring from the corners of the house,
their neat swarms quiet and inevitable.
The bleeding heart is back, no thanks to me.
Its blossoms bend their vine:
a collarbone’s grace.
With each day, the pink fades.
Despite everything, we are not yet saved.
I am disappointed when I realize
the tapping on the window isn’t rain but moths.
To pass the time, I browse engagement rings—an endless scroll.
It helps to want something obtainable.
This is me on my knees in a parking lot
trying to lure a stray cat out from under a car
and a girl from the bar saying Leave it.
You aren’t doing it any favors.