 |
| Louis Osofsky |
one by one
memories
slip in –
I am
the spillway
~
floating,
where there is
no water,
my warm feet
on sticky sand
~
but on the nightstand
a water glass fills
with morning ...
if I step out of my body
would I break into water ?
*****
your hands
are warm,
I kiss each knuckle,
a laugh stretches from your body
like a moan
*****
breathing
floats from the trees,
I lean
forward, listening
for a whisper
*****
I swivel to face the window.
A muffled bark. A murmur of far-off voices. The rasp of an approaching car. Two doors slam shut. A distant police siren, wire-thin, in a swift crescendo.
In pale light, a ghost arm like moonlight slanting down though the covers. No longer faceless, eyes focused, as if in defiance, you turn, with conspicuous slowness.
Hanging in the air between us, words condense – droplets rounding themselves, as they fall etching a darker patch, a deepening, a roughness.
unsure
what still anchors us
to the bed,
I watch the thing you said to me
still hanging in the air
