Thursday, March 31, 2011

The unbroken chain


Monday Window

Open a window and spook a hawk.
She drops from the oak and is gone.
You saw her so for just a moment.

You stand looking at the empty tree.
How many hawks left, you wonder?
Pause skitters through the branches.

Romans and all their wondrous debaucheries.
Ageless declarations of love; candles in Verona.
The unbroken chain that delivered you here.

Interrupted journeys, the twist and creak of fates.
Every dead and borning thing throughout all time.
Empires risen, empires gone, another billion suns.


Buying Cohen’s Ten New Songs at the Swiss border.
Rastplatz goulash and mittelbrät on half-day rye.
Dachau on the signpost driving out of Münich.

Mornings I left you and mornings returned.
The scent of other women that never comes clean.
Beds never large enough to hold such regret.

What am I then, if not witchmeal and würmdust?
Some moment of skin and hair and driving blood?
Kisses I leave to lips that will never speak of them.

Monday never knows what will happen.
Open a window and spook a hawk.
How many left to strand these empty oaks?

Joseph Gallo
January 31, 2011



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