1
The architecture of the morning
gave way to words.
2
I traced it back to an ordinary Saturday afternoon
in an otherwise ordinary spring -
narratives clogging the airways
the wishy-washy of what could have been said
the grocery list indifferent in the pocket.
3
The beaches weren't as ponderous.
It was good to get out and walk along the sand shoeless
forgetting about the crowds at the malls
getting their kids ready for another week.
4
I suppose I should have taken a number and waited
but instead I waded into the classifieds
rehearsing lines which would never leave the apartment.
5
I thought about the hazy rituals that fence us in
and the many times we had slipped through
with a false sense of animation,
surfing for the wide-angle view, expecting perspective.
6
We'd often leave the page unturned
only to find we'd lost our place.
7
I again checked the closets.
The several pairs of shoes you left behind reminded me
of our many games of Solitaire.
A few drinks.
Going about one's business, you always said.
8
I'd heard that our neighbor
the one with the obsession for constellations with double letters
followed suit.
9
April fell away.
The days brightened.
10
The flowers on the table
began dropping petals
like the snowflakes I would never see
from that window again.
11
Moments came and went.
I dreamed of music
the promise of an afterlife
12
and was comforted
by the ambiguities
that trundled along
in perfect harmony
muffling the train's warning blasts
13
especially on foggy evenings
when I tend to mistake strangers
for much-needed sleep.
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Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison
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