By the sludge

The river is a sludge where we stand.
We lean against each other near its banks.
When no cars pass, you place your palm on the small of my back.
I lean in to draw your breath into mine.
The lights flash again and we quickly come apart.

The story of our lives.

Moved away

The house is finally quiet today, with much of the moving done. Dust is beginning to settle on things again.
I miss the quiet of the greens and the sound of the birds and the dogs in the garden. There is no garden here. Only a small patch of lawn, where Chorri pees, because she needs the green as an inspiration to answer nature's call.
I hear the sound of Ring Road buses here and it makes me feel like I've come so far away from home.

dogs

Every dog you leave behind,
is a heartbreak

your face

I feel as though your face is changing. i can't tell if it's the beard you're forgetting to trim or the anger in your eyes. But I feel like your face has started to change. Maybe I will soon be in your past.

break me down

what have i got to offer you

but this heart break?

faces

We are still doing it
-- staring at one another,
but wrangling now
instead of floating away into
nothingness
like we did the day we were
falling
          in love

I spot hints of grey
in your beard,
you ignore
the grey
in my pubic hair
--we're too old to pay attention
to small details now

we only remember
how we hurt
each other

The almost rains of New York

how strange to be sitting here in a room in Syracuse, staring at a twenty-storied building, as the clouds fleet over it, staring and bawling, because you have finally written

to say you can't stay