Taylor Burke

The year he graduated from Yale

I was born under a full moon.

I wonder what he would say

if he were a poet:

brag about his marble floors,

the wooden framework of his 

winding stairs, the California lilacs

his wife brings home from her hikes.

There’s a scar on his shoulder,

but I can’t remember which.

Under a waning crescent

I ripped my socks running

the four blocks from his home to mine.