the way you use to. Your face the
first thing my open eyes meet and
my heart smiling at the sweet sound
of your breathing. You laid your
head on my chest and warmed me
like a blanket of waterlilies on a
painted river. You closed your eyes
and went to sleep. When I woke
you were gone and I was cold.
It’s raining in the dark and he
sings to me from the shadows;
lulls me into the alley.
I follow the dirge like a zombie
hungry for a new idea.
But all these thoughts are ice water
slipping through numb fingers;
by a black lake at night.
Repeating the bridge, he washes me
down the storm-drain.
Back in 2011 I attempted to write a poem a day for National Poetry Month in April. Here are two from mind-month.