five more suns

will melt it all away:
the exact shapes of
tops of these trees,
laugh lines, crow’s feet,
maps of daily walks

there, on that street, stands
a minute from not so long ago
its wax melting in the sun
visiting hours running out



those who know
a thing or two

will smooth out
rough edges

strike out
what’s yours

saw off
whole limbs

with cold

just to make you
more “relevant”