Here I stand now to receive blessings from a father’s thin air ,now felt at the balcony’s falling off to a night. My night poetry being of many spaces this very room shall afford a window of opportunity, the curtains a glimpse.
Lest I forget the sill I bring the moths out of season,out of rain,their embraces to the glass of death.Their glass wings shall bring a re-generation of leaves and the fallen flowers ,heads down in shame their feet put up to the sky of surrender.
I forget the lake of my liquid space ,its waters jutting out from the rocks, a white smoke behind a garbage dune killing a soft wet poet’s innocent verse. I forget the road of the hanging trees ,the pollution van standing to abolish poverty and pollution in a round plaque ,the crows hanging in trees with worms to early sun sleepily rising like always.
Lest I forget I hear the drum beating of a train picking up gravel hitting speed in a rising crescendo of the drum stick by a bearded player who changes tracks and drum beat shamelessly mimicking the train while it is away on nightly rounds with people tucked away in a dark womb.