This morning as I shivered, making my late way
to my second-hand chariot, I espied upon its
hooded visage a large parking ticket, caught
in the wiper, as if a leafy hand left by the maple.
It's wrong to stay so long unchanged
in one place without falling down, and I
ignore it, as is my wont, and now at evening
the chill wind comes round to collect and
doesn't understand yet that I've paid, but I'm
lighter now, dropping off, fitfully, inside myself,
as I separate from what I was and test this
thin paper engine of passing, even as
the evening drives out and away, ignoring
the permission I gave it to ignore my limitations.