BATTLEHORSED OF PGH

the plane pins a hole through pittsburgh’s drabdowned cloud — and then — the sun — says”PSYCH” — and “YOU CREATURES OF PERSPECTIVE” to us — we shift at his fresh sky like a body waking from sleep — breathe relief while sun flips flapcakes in pans and whistles our shared to-dos for today before — pausing — looks deep into our eyes — sees the aftershock from the grey what-was — puts his ovenhitted hand on our shoulder — “listen, it’s in the past. you’re going to be fine.”