What I Saw While You Were Dying
On the way to your apartment
I passed a building like a boat.
I smelled urine and smoke
coffee and sweat and bus.
I walked your dog in the park.
We fetched, we sniffed, we both peed.
I looked up at your window.
You are swimming in air.
There was a fountain I had seen only in pictures,
A walkway from a stranger’s wedding,
The weight of a bird on a bench.
I went right near the deli,
waited on the corner for the moon.
No shine, no silver, no cheese.
I need a shower and a shave.
I climb the stairs, ring the bell,
leave my shoes in the hall.
There is weeze, and work and dread.
I take pictures of pictures of you.
It the only thing I know how to do.
Grates, fire escapes, large men walking small dogs.
The windows are wide,
this is a noisy place to die.
Forgive me.
Blink, shutter, snap.
Recent Comments