the storm was nothing
i could write about
and i've given up writing
about it breaking up darkness
and driving back night
i've given up turning storms to words
it was her that was everything
it was her in the light
breaking through windows
some hours after midnight
it was her whose breath
on the back of my neck
blocked out the storm
it was her and all of her
that night coming back to me
i have given up writing about storms
because they allow me to forget
i know my time with her in words
is plain and distorted
the view of the sky in a stepped-in puddle
after the rain has gone
these poems never fit
i write them over and over
knowing they are nothing
a fleck of glass from the mirror
of my time with her
Posts
1 comment:
I was just random blog-surfing when I stumbled across all yours. I must say they are very good. You touch on all the current and perhaps urban issues...nice :)
Post a Comment