Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen

A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy,
And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon.

I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here,

now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard,
being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already,

I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious.

Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me…

My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because
Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again.

Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say  “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.

tonight--my walk
there was fog, a rare vapor
on these prairies

perhaps there  
because I had just read of London,
and German bombs falling through its mythic miasma,
though the only sound that disturbed
this nocturnal glaucomic vision
was a lone siren,
a fire truck, vanished
into the ether,
to save a life

I suppose, since
there was no fire
there was, on the next block
in halogen haze
a fox; I know
you

you ate the
fat black pet hare
the neighbors
mourned  

tonight,
you, and I were on a stroll--I tracked you
just to see your fine tail, hear your soundless
pads on the pavement, knowing the sight and silence of you
were as rare as the misted air

then,
a truck came
its lights making you disappear
and waking me
from this cold
perfect dream