Old men move like rounded
rocks in a swift river and stare
with eyes like January--
eyes that look at what will be as what has been
From porches or park benches, reliving
They say, “Seems like
yesterday I spun wings from the slender
dusky sun, and shattered the midnight moon!”
Today, piecing together a “Starry Night”
Yesterday, we, when the daylight trailed
into twinkling, pricked ourselves with spinning
stars or moon shards, slipped
into the myopic closing of spaces,
rendered fingertipping and gravity
into distended pulsing
Today you lie
dormant, dressed by scattered
sunlight and breezes
the cloudy pathos of yesterday evaporating
like rain from the sun-aged
sidewalks of our twisted minds
Today I am puzzled,
spread out on the table,
trying to pen our sheets to a line
hanging as whitely as regret hangs
on in the wind.
by: Raymond Alistair
 | |
| Janus |
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