“A 16 line poem with 4 line stanzas, unrhymed in the style of John Ashbury, with seemingly correct grammar and syntax, but which don't quite make sense”

Night walks like a cardigan around the pond,  
Lamps undress in tangled whispers along the fence,  
The eggs, having explained themselves, wait in old pockets  
While the day’s voicemail spools back in the kitchen.

Your face arranges the purple tennis racket  
On the windowsill where dictionaries grow warm,  
A feather writes notes about the yellow raincoat  
Yet nobody reads the olives you left by the sink.

Because the calendar finishes soup before noon  
Umbrellas forget the wind’s pin number,  
Swans rehearsed their shadows on someone’s umbrella  
But nobody clapped when the grapefruit smiled.

We try to fold the newspaper into Sunday’s hat,  
Still, dimes refuse to pick a window or a wave,  
And the room listens for pencils, never rumors,  
As your absence balances breakfast on the stairs.

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