Rain falls like flowers at my feet, runs down the window of a parked car, effortlessly. I turn the corner and every road has the shadow of a season I once loved. Tell me how the sea, three streets away, brings no sound, scent, salt, but I smell your cigarette at the desk the one you held three years ago, hear you inhale the thought that maybe you can stay. A company of trees huddle between rows of cement homes, where dew will soon come, pass, while my eyes, a little whisky behind and above, translate time between night and morning as cinema, half empty.
Madeleine Marie Slavick
沒有留言:
發佈留言