December 22, 2019

• fugitive time

  it's hard to write something beautiful
  and lasting
  in this fugitive time;

  our allotted share on earth
  with the world in disarray
  that poetry can not set right

  we no longer meet at the edge of morning
  in this room full of the litter of every day,
  we pass through
  at different times, leave messages
  on torn scraps of paper

  following a ball
  we threw in a park
  a long time ago

  the dawn does not hold direction
  nor light playing in the leaves
  nor stars in my western sky

  names have been sponged one by one
  from the slate of memory

  and lately the headlines enter into my heart
  like an assassin
  my heart is torn, unknown
  to itself

  as the winter within
  freezes my breath

  who will listen to the wind
  carrying my faint voice
  into the years

  i want to walk on the soft carpet
  of summer nights,

  even though i will hear the desolate bark
  of little dogs,

  i will still remember your laugh

  • 6:20 pm
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