I feel
the curve of the river
Press
against me as I walk
This
lonely walk along the Hudson
In
not-so-desolate Hoboken
The
chill wind kissing my cheeks
When I
ache for more,
The
trembling last leaves
Of last
fall’s harvest clinging
To
barren limbs,
Tender
brown fingers
Rubbing
the bark with the same
Affection
I feel in memory,
This
breath of air stinging me
And yet
making me ache for more
As if
pleasure and pain
Cannot
be subdivided in a town
Where everything
gets boxed up,
My limbs
like tree limbs
Waiting
for the coming of spring
To burst
again into hard buds
That
bloom and drip with a spring
Time
due, the taste of the air,
Lingering
at the tip of my tongue
As I
swallow and feel the chill
Go down
deep into my bones,
Where
all things reside,
Like an
unresolved remembrance
that drips off each edge of me,
that drips off each edge of me,
Filled
with the promise of satisfaction
I never
feel
No comments:
Post a Comment