On a Cafe Window

The flowers reach for their reflections.
A potted plant floats in the air as car

after car runs through it without moving
a petal. A building’s slanting shadow

cuts the road in halves. As I look again
the flowers are not reaching for anything.

A volume of my favorite poet
occupies the left-turn lane.

Car after car have stopped and are waiting;
No light changes. Was all the motion imagined?