Published: August 28, 2008

Silent Monday. Silent Monday

the windows wide gaping at april gray

the night is young. So young so young

the night is young and I am standing

at my place.

You sit down, slouchy brown bag

Your drink is there, your drink is there

And I don’t talk to strangers

No

I should not talk to strangers

No

And I never go for curls

Oh no.

But yours are lovely

And should be something of mine

And so should your voice

Oh yes.

So should your voice that is like

Laughing eyes and Christmas eve

Like cobalt blue stars, like a memory of light

Oh.

Yes.

I have kept your words in my pockets

To be turned over like skipping rocks smooth and solid

Only I don’t skip.

Only I don’t.

Don’t.

Because some things are too true to ever say.

And your voice is October

And each move of your mouth

Is that silent Monday.

Oh.

Yes.