Firelight

Pregnant
with your own death,
you are consumed
by the awesome firelight.

The moon is troubling
me. Each night we have
watched it together. I hold
your hand and we try to see
all the constellations
outside of your window.

City lights and haze,
bounce off the streets,
obscuring most of the stars.
The one time you pointed out
Orion’s belt, you were so happy,
but I didn’t have the heart to tell
you it was the wrong season
for him to be loitering
in our twilight.

And when I hold your hand,
this hand, in the early morning,
you have been asleep for hours.
I watch the moon fading,
giving way to fiery Phoebus.

Every morning in these last
two weeks, it has grown

thinner, and so have you.

Miles

Pulling
apart his
baseball,
the one
signed
by the
members
of his local
minor
league team,
a young
child spends
hours

unwinding
string.
Inside,
he discovers
another
smaller
ball, within
those miles
of fibers, and
in his
wasted hours
all he
learns is
the
redundancy
of destruction.

Understand
child,
there will
be more
later,
a whole
lifetime of
hammered
pennies
and fractured
rocks.

The Antique Store

It is my day off, and I feel anxious.
Needing to do something, a neighbor
introduces me to the antique store
around the corner.

It is the first time I set foot
in the place, but I see the building
that houses it outside a window
in my apartment.
It’s one of many such stores.

The neighbor, Gabriel
is fascinated by the old;
the obscure. The proprietor
greets us with a smile, and
an attentive eye. We are
not hooligans, just bored.

The accoutrements of days
gone by clutter around us.
Breathing down our backs:
gilded mirrors, ancient bedding,
and chapeaus of all imagination.
But what it is we are looking for
lies underneath our feet.

Descending a rickety staircase,
we enter into the treasure
awaiting us. Vinyl recordings
of all shades, old newspapers,
and bric-a-brac unimaginable
are hoping to be found and loved
just one more time, one more chance
to be loved before it becomes dust.
The mold and the damp hang
in the air. Three lonely bulbs illuminate
the cold concrete beneath our feet.

Thumbing through the racks, I find Alvin
and the Chipmunks Sing the hits
of the Beatles. Sometimes treasure finds
its way into your hands before you know
what you are looking for.