where un-nameable weeds grow

i cross to the other side 
of the street 
to avoid passing someone. 
i go all the way up
Willis Avenue like this. 
back & forth.
a boy on a bike. a man carrying groceries
in both hands. 
a woman pushing a shopping cart
full of trinkets. 
i don't know what
i'm afraid of or if i'm afraid of anything.
i don't want to make 
bad conversation. girl who looks to small
to be walking alone
i don't want to know 
whether or not we're all
ghosts on one of the first cool night of September.
as long as none of us speak a word 
this might be a haunting. 
this might be
a house of asphalt & street lights. 
our shadows
might be beautiful slanted animals. 
i step over
an empty box of Newports & consider
the cardboard mouth 
& how it opens for me,
a whole human, to crawl inside. 
i'm always searching for a smaller space 
to fit--there's the alley between 
the deli & the day care
where twisted un-nameable weeds grow 
& then the spot between 
the metal fence & the sushi place.
i scope out these locations 
& decide that if i had no where else to go 
i would slip into them
but yes i do have a home & none of us are ghosts,
at least not yet. that comes with winter
& the days shrinking to the size 
of a thread.
we can all feel them dwindling. 
i tell everyone
that i don't miss summer 
so much as i miss
that kind of sweat & those kinds of nights.
that's a lie though. 
the truth is 
all i do is dream about summer. 
that thickness. that heat.
the kind of body it promises. 
the beach aching
to be full of aimless people who look into it 
like a breaking window. 
i could circle the world
to chase summer. yes that's what i'll do.
i consider this gesture almost the same as
crossing the street as another person approaches.
what kind of avoidance? 
that's where i'm left unsure.