| | A woman walks across the water
and finds you far away.
You hear her foot falls echo through you
and watch the ripples in your wine
as she comes stepping note by note across the sea
on a trembling cello string,
over space and time and the no capito vocals
coming through in stereo.
On Sicilian radio.
Coming through deserted streets
to knock on the café glass,
she waits to be let in.
Or is it the rain
that bends these lines in red and blue and black
framing radio sounds
into similes:
like dawn's skirts rustling red,
like day slowly opening both blue eyes,
like midnight letting her hair spill out over the empty streets?
Or like memory finds you sitting
and taking your hand in hers
asks you for a dance.
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| | Posted 4/29/2009 9:37 AM - 8 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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