All this is true —
In a time of discipline and misery
plants hang down and look up
beside the window
steamed with conversation.
The leaves of a geranium —
intimate and exact —
meet my eye on the right.

How true things are —
Headlights cruise by like a fish
beneath the star
and glare of an automotive logo.

Near to me
the geranium frames a red glow on the glass
OPEN open open —
from the red neon sign across the street.

Everything is true —
Geometry and flowers print the tablecloth.
The waiter sets my place.
All this? I ask.
The works, he says.
The pepper in the soup burns my lips.
The salad is a nest woven with sprouts
and leaves, seeds, everything.