I

I 3/16

The dust in the corners of the window is black
soot like thin and sifted soft

The cat sniffs at it and the wind brings it around
my pillows until they are dark with it

The buildings outside shed this skin
hiding themselves behind billboards and signs

That church with the dragons along the roof
a line of people snakes down the block

They wait for the food bank to open
call out their numbers and call out their needs



This poem continues in J.