Monday, September 25, 2006

a man falls in love a hundred times a day
this girl's ass
another's hair
another's awkward smile
and another who carries a book of children's questions
it's touching you see?
she enters your field of vision long enough for the beginnings of attachment
to be born
she is gone
a momentary feeling of loss
(almost imperceptable grief)
and you move on

Thursday, September 14, 2006

sad today
we are driving in the car
you sit beside me in silence
I try to engage you
how was your day?
but the quiet stays between us
like another planet
and you tell me
I'm distant.


there is a certain September echo
the ring of a dog's bark across the concrete courtyard bounces off brownstone walls
there is a certain September echo
even in the light (if that makes any sense)
evening sweeps up third avenue
traffic, headlight dawn cuts the dusk with pointed yellow fingers
the bright light cheese scented warmth of our corner pizza place pulls at us but our wallets beg to differ
instead we go home to sock footed jeans off on the couch
maybe you'll make a salad you say, and we can warm last winter's frozen soup in the microwave.
back on the couch, your head in the crook of my shoulder
we talk about the early chill in the air, and how the spider plant looks like it's dying again
an echo of last September