not done

 #25

today is opposite day. at least in some circles. 

and so, a little poem from another time: 

On the cusp of night

no one is out - not me or you

across from me

there, in the bottom-falling-out chair. 

There are no stares, not even 

those you give your book;

the silence falling easily

around our non-existence.

There is no pillow round which 

wrap my feet; I haven't

angled them away from you. 

No voices down the street, no 

tires pass, 

no eyes - not mine - have gotten weary,

or see a cat glide through

the pink and green outside the balcony.

And I? I don't sit here within my chair,

refusing not to shiver in the chilled air.

No shadows mark the scene, for

far beyond the ivy there

is not a sky of covered stars, draped

blue and black. 

The reason I can't hear you, nor you me, 

is simple - we don't sit here.

There is no door, no chair, no light, no balcony.

No one stays to witness nighttime

pass.