No one goes downtown.
I see an empty square and name it after you.
In the yard of the house you used to live in,
the flowers shed petals, the grass overgrows.
These corners still seem yours. At night,
you used to ride ahead,
turning back to capture me
with a disposable camera.
In this photograph, everything is black
but my headlight and the glow above,
my white fingers
gripping the handlebars.