your hair.
a crumbling edifice
of antiquity.
byzantine.
your hair,
not smooth roman lines,
not a body
in perpetual motion.
hospitality
from your
shyly offered
smile.
I, incorrigible,
wearing my hat across the
wooden planks
of your old albany house.
bringing you beer
I had thought of spirits.
you do not drink.
I forgot.
leaving in
early morning
or late evening
or time unknown.
walking to the door,
scrambling in the foyer,
dark.
you grabbing my elbow,
unbending,
half-embracing me.
disinterest not feigned
as well as I thought.
scattering down corroded steps,
ebullient,
curious.
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2 comments:
1) i like this
2) is your letter coming soon? i am quite ill and need something to cheer me up!
3) read my latest post...maybe you can write a counter poem/excerpt to it like i did to your thicket poem...if it so moves you, of course
your letter will be on it's way a couple of days, I wish it were there to cheer you up now though!
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