Some sorrow curls between the syllables, the consonants, mostly
it looks like the fancy cursive Qs no one remembers how to write.
I remember the trains. I remember Pittsburgh burning.
We are family, flaming Pittsburgh, naughty caboose.
Swooping in our sneakers, riding the interstate
the interstitial deployment of weapons oblivious to our love.
For it is nearly Valentine's Day, and my pockets
and my pockets are full of myriad atopic delights
and my pockets are full of sundry memories
and sundry memories are flying around the ceiling like domesticated bees
towards the front of the room, saturated in honey
the wallpaper. this room. a voice
forms a tree beneath
and the roots of that tree spell out your name, Craig Ehlo
a cursive of tree and time, a free-thrown moment spins into history's open shout.