POETRY PAGE SIX
COLUMN FIFTY-EIGHT, APRIL 1, 2001
(Copyright © 2001 Al Aronowitz)
QUARTER COFFEEHOUSE BLUES
to the rain run its laughter down the gutters.
I wanted this careless music and the flicker
of gas lamps above the damp flagstones.
twin doors swing open with a breath of wind.
Can he hear them unlock, high flying to the north?
Listen to the glide of rain like silk on wands of glass. ##
* * *
even as graves hollow the bones
they hold in the dark box
of shadow and soil, it happens
the sun warms abandoned seeds
and they swell through moist loam,
even as the widow opens her coat
and follows with her eyes a flight
birds, coming or going, high above
the countryside of absence and renewal.
This is the work of love that happens,
as we talk and talk, believe it or not. ##
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