from somewhere among the smoking mouths
a man’s long, astonished whistle rolls.
whatever they say about dusk is true; we feel it now.
each day ends with imprecision, lost among
the neighbor noises: someone has hit a dog,
a woman leans out on the fire escape to tell
the story into her mobile, a crowd mutters below,
the bus churns by them, coughing. it is dark.
we miss the silent exit of the sun
not because it is unimportant to us,
but because the clamor of so much else crowds it out.
children wait for supper and bathtime and bed,
lovers want a little conversation.
outside, the blooded lump of fur asks a riddle
that no one there can answer; the bystanders
hang out for what will happen next;
the yards with their keening insects
sing over and over: “i am glad to have known you.
i am glad to have known you. i am glad.”


3 thoughts on “unfinished

  1. makes me think of the last memories of war, after peace has come and people forget what wartime was like. except for the few that still remember.

  2. I want to say this poem is delicious, but that connotes the completely wrong idea…but it tastes good, it is savory, it is satisfying like a good mouthful of something complete.

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