Black has the advantage
of two rooks & a bishop.

When I’m losing, the best
moves leave me still losing

& white folds to improbable
dawns. As soon as I’m leading

the tenor changes.
There’s analytics in the way

of my sensationalism for spring.
The breeze pulls itself

out the window & the light
pours in suddenly, hiding

us completely. You could
call this erasure, all these

storms coming in, all this
color letting go.