by Ralph Angel

I miss you too.
Something old is broken,
nobody’s in hell.
Sometimes I kiss strangers,
sometimes no one speaks.
Today in fact
it’s raining. I go out on the lawn.
It’s such a tiny garden,
like a photo of a pool.
I am cold,
are you?
Sometimes we go dancing,
cars follow us back home.
Today the quiet
slams down
gently, like drizzled
leafless trees.
It’s all so tidy,
a fire in the living room,
a rug from Greece,
Persian rugs and pillows,
and in the kitchen,
the light
fogged with windows.

Last updated May 02, 2015