The Hat

Your photo against the topaz river
I think of what might have been

the passion of neglect doesn’t feel it
the “m” from “poem”

dropped to make a little man
heart pounding in the greasy garden

the sky’s blue face
apparently can’t get oxygen like me

your thighs were angels
your lips raging in the night

but what might have been
has become the spine of a haiku

all I can do
is adjust its brim