by Gerard Malanga
as my sciatica is acting up, and you turn to laugh.
Constant reminders, headaches of so much left undone,
unsaid. So many aimless roads,
so many aimless thoughts commingled into one.
The screendoor slowly creaking shut.
The dusk descends, any dusk awaits a visit that will never come again. Those
meanderings, those skinny–dipping pools
where we’d swing free and take the plunge,
where for a second I’ve found you
in my reverie but nowhere
else. Where have you gone?
Where has the twilight dipped and swayed?
Who walks beside you in the languid air?