Jake's Flea Market

snowflakes

they fall most white in the darkest hour

footsteps

they ring loudest in the most silent moment

the street is deserted

movement is most noticed when nothing moves

there’s a car coming

it’s been driven around the block all night
it’s been driven around the block for a thousand nights

the driver
drives in all directions
drives between shrines of devotion
drives in the circling and ringing silence
drives the same aimless streets round and round

he stops the car

in the beginning was no love

in the beginning was the woman
he homed himself into the small white house with her
picket fenced himself into the garden

thought love could grow
so he seeded it with the vegetables in the morning
but everything he picked for her at noon
was gathered from a garden full of bean green greens

he went in to her
wrote the love forever letter in the corner of the room
folded and flew it paper airplane across the afternoon
but because it was a fiction
because it lacked conviction
it failed to soar
and crashed in the middle of the gulf of somewhere on the floor

in the middle was no love

in the middle was the woman
rose from her chair and withdrew her mood
into the nightfall of another room he never entered

he went out from her
went out to pick her up a snickers bar
went out to pick her up a hundred and one dalmations
went out to pick up the national enquirer the star
went out for the thousandth night in the same car
went out to drive through the intersection where the lie began again and again
ended

in the end is no love

in the end is the driver 
sits in the driver’s seat hands on the wheel

the woman doesn’t see this there’s a passenger
sits in the backseat of the mind under the streetlight
reminds him again says look

the shining time has faded by a thousand shades see

the newness and its fine perfume have staled by a thousand days

the sweet song and its engine tick and rattle toward silence see

the springs are worn from under its comfort and every pothole jars a headache

reminds him again says look
it ain’t worth what it was see

the woman doesn’t hear this
reads her globe secure
that he’ll always drive in circles
always look into the sidestreet but never make the exit
always see the word in the window that welcomes him to the doorstep of a new conversation
but never escape in through the door

she never thinks as she closes her eyes
that he’s climbing from the car
walking into the dark to kick tires in a carlot
looking for something new to climb into

she never dreams the morning after the thousandth night
she’ll be staring out through the pain
she’ll be staring out through the pane of living room glass

she’ll see fresh snow on the doorstep
but no footprints

she’ll see the car she owned with him
will be sitting abandoned somewhere