—Like so many fine twigs 
snapped by the rainstorm
that’s sweeping this city today,
heavy. It lashes the pastel houses
and the people walk by clutching
their jackets to their necks;
it looks like everyone is crying.

And I felt so bored and sad
that I dropped two threads of saffron
in the bowl of Cheerios I had for lunch,
and that was a failure, obviously, 
as I had been almost sure it would be, 
the threads unable to blush the milk,
the oat flour turned soupy, the taste 
just sharp enough to disgust me.   

I stood at the window, I pressed 
the puff cactus to see if its flesh
was still stiff under the pallid fur. 
When I picked my fingernails,
the thin crescents fell and were lost
among the angular pebbles in the pot,