The rain today is more like air —
thick enough to slice,
a steak and kidney pie served cold.
I pull the collar of my coat
to cover ears;
I pocket hands, shiver,
breathe beneath the weight of covered moon
as sound of sunsets breaks my heart.
The future is the same
a tense of boots on cobblestones.
It took a mushroom cloud to end it
Lay beside me baby,
let’s pretend it’s yesterday
it isn’t murder.
It’s said the sun will rise
but what if sorrow is a shroud that covers light?
If future is as hollow as my chest?
But I bend my back to papers,
to a hope
that in the end we matter more
A poem about the future for Isadora at toads… sorry for not feeling more upbeat. But I thought I’d pay some tribute to Leonard Cohen at the same time.
December 1, 2016