Urban Nights, 2009.*
I’ve walked this city and saw such life,
But I regret to say that I didn’t see yours.
Hand in hand, a husband and wife,
Whose open arms swing like those open doors,
In this city where music spoke,
And where stone broke
Under my heels!
Where lights blinked,
And where jewelry clinked.
Such vibrant thrills!
Where the crowds gathered,
And where the cold beer splattered.
A kinetic spill!
And I walked this city.
Saw some birds, who dined on breadcrumbs of pity,
As my lips half-pressed against the glass.
A fog around my mouth and a fog around my heart,
As I saw some kids sitting in a small patch of grass,
Where the city cared enough to remember the flowers blooming
Under these steel and concrete buildings in the dusk, still looming.
And I’ve gathered the sights and sounds of the city at night,
But I don’t have a photograph of you in this dim light,
Where the stars twinkled under handmade pieces of art,
And where the couples from earlier gather
Not yet wishing to depart.
And now I’m sitting in a booth
Feeling alone, although I’m not in this ongoing affair,
With my quick glances back and forth to see that you’re never there.
And while I’m nibbling on my nails and hard bread,
A single thought stays there in my head;
If you’d only knew
This city is dead without you.
