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