Between the moon and her eyes
An old movie is cutting in around
Her gaze. He a doctor.
She ‘I don’t know.’ She said to herself.
The train is late.
A friend arrived.
A sorry ending.
In her lungs a troubled sigh
Bends the light on the winder—
A minute universe apprenticing her dream.
Perhaps it’s the sound of the city,
Careful words that cut through
A furious urban valley.
Never as proud as the mountain’s
But they sing scarcely in tune
With the rest of the year:
Leaner shadows of unlocked gates
Tailing on her skin. An empty lobby,
A wall clock ticking to an alien cave.
Like the way she kissed her words,
Or kept her distance from her shirt.
Old trinkets in glass windows, minor
Mausoleums with little price tags
Incautious of destiny—
‘In any case,’ she sighed,
‘They were married to memories.
‘Hacked each other’s taste,
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