Thursday, March 8, 2012


They're frames, holding portraits
of snow and rain, street lovers
parting around different corners,
an insomniac fighting his shadow
that lengthens or vanishes
with the careless headlights,
the city's hunger, pulsing through
dense alleyways.

The night tries to lure her with somatic
recall.  Her feet remembering barefoot
dances, warm asphalt, the grass, so soft.
Once she might have run scattered,
broken out, tossing black confetti
on the blue velvet night. Once, maybe.

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