listening for the hoofs of the rescue party waiting for some ghost pony to glide into berkley with an old fishbowl full of tear trap strapped to it s ghost saddle it moves slow like an exercise bike on an airport walkway yeah something that wouldn t smell like ground ants or glossy magazine cologne but a wet street after light late summer rain a wooden match just lit or something new in the green subject of a landscape painting or something new in the foreground in a poster of some asian mountains that says patience in funky italics1