Someplace Else

Inside, a small bed, white sheets over tough mattress.
A layer of what used to be pale yellow
on rough concrete walls.

Inside, exposed beams on ceiling, pointing
to open window, sills decorated
with smudges of his last cigarette last night,
and this morning’s shit from pigeons (temporary roommates,

they’ve already gone.)

Outside, busy footsteps on pavement,
hands hailing cabs;
small talk, conversations,
perhaps poetry.

Outside, a city of strangers, 
unknown, unnamed, unexplored.


You are as unattractive as uncharted oceans
and undiscovered clearings in virgin forests:

Wild, beautiful, and terrifyingly new.  

Again, I Remember

There is no escape from you my dear.

Even if the earth should turn itself
away from your face,
your light still smiles down on it,

sometimes a sliver of silver,
sometimes a mouth wide open,

but always aglow with the stars.

Oh no. I can feel it coming again, like the sudden gust of cold wind and the quick creeping of a dark, heavy raincloud.