I look back at the clutter of the shadow,
Still black with interruptions of window,
and great, heaving plumes of molten air.
The glass is oiled up with
the dirt of love.
And I am surprised to see myself suspended there,
In a web of smoke and grime,
Waving back at myself.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 10:41 PM UTC
I look back at the clutter of the shadow,
Still black with interruptions of window,
and great, heaving plumes of molten air.
The glass is oiled up with
the dirt of love.
And I am surprised to see myself suspended there,
In a web of smoke and grime,
Waving back at myself.