At Arte they’ll chill
Your city mind
An oasis for to hear
Chimes and birds
All things good
Air is warmer here
Among the banana trees
And broad leaves
It lays about you
In spots that used to stay warm.
There is no separation
Between warm and humid
There is no dry
There is just a light breeze
From a passing window
With no repetition
In varying degrees of exhaust
Hoping whatever it is that’s making
The breeze keep so friendly
Keeps doing its work.
I wrote a poem as depths of summer
Did I know it would collapse?
I followed the wind into sweet trees
And left my marrow to bleed.
I cried a last chance
Like winds over emptiness
I called and hung on to a word
Yet unspoken was my very reply.
Soon I had walked beyond
Escaped a southern wind
And opened my book to a lost page
Again, a cold and fleeting choice.
Secretly I whisper to the eyes that hold but little space for me
An awareness that belongs not to my soul of desire
But to a lost alarm clock beckoning for another hour
A window catches a blinking light somewhere in the horizon
While a cat sadly roams about the hall with a limp it cannot heal
Desolation is a lingering affair amidst night before’s busy streets
Where once fireworks begged for mercy in the air like dragons nightly play
So I shall talk at odd volumes to hear my voice again
Though no memory shall recall the words that secretly danced
Amidst uneven sidewalks of a forgotten despair.