50

Another bus passes. Nothing quite happens now.
Snow’s nearly gone, but it’s still cold. Drove to the city,
saw horses standing on the edge of the sky,
heads cast like heavy anchors, but downtown
there seems to be a few more birds, flying somewhere,
over that pawnshop on Wyndham we visited last spring,
your old watch you sold the man for 50 dollars.
I go inside to buy it back, but my memory feels
different to me now, as if I had swallowed every ounce of it
down the wrong way; maybe we walked in another place,
was demolished behind our backs, or maybe you never
really gave it away. I don’t want to believe in this faith,
that time runs out, then somehow goes on,
but our endless circling still circles in my body,
and I feel the tracks they leave in the air.
Today is a mask of yesterday. Behind it,
it’s not dark, but there doesn’t seem to be any light.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.