At the party, Chopin nocturnes in my head,
Someone snuffing-out candles of a cake,
Confident, uncasual men, decision dons
Intent on business, parley at the bowl of punch.
Needing air, I duck past cupboards in the kitchen,
Ledge over the top of the Dutch door,
Finding a summer pellicle of cottonwood
Like snow on the electric walkway bulbs.
My loafers, then my socks, grind at the gravel,
Smudge against the custard of the milkweed --
Away from the unconcern by those indoors,
Mock-identical with nature, here I'm hushed.