There is, behind the flow of acts, a shortness of
breath
The jurisdiction of the wait
More crooked when the evening approaches
Chewed so much that it lost its taste of clay
The wait
Empty bearing against:
The drought of loss
The barely finished
stanzas
The smooth neutrality of oblivion
The Me of ashes
The apnea
The parade of the blue memories of the past engraved
on floors where to walk as if
From all of what we knew, nothing
Undoing the commotion, fussing, at bay
The resistance to dreaming could become awkward
Hardened for long, for long hardened
By the remembrance.
December 2011