November 9

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The dawn keeps on dawning.
What was it that I thought

I saw? Quickly forget
the taste of lime and salt,

warmth that lingers
like an honest embrace.

Cold rain. The gingko piebald,
a tree at half-mast.

What is love
and what is loveable?

The vacant building
has a gray façade.

A gray car passes
in the slick gray street,

the fallen leaves too damp
to lift. A heavy act,

to turn away, withholding.
Mark the weight of empty

space. Of words unspoken.
That bitter root of doubt.


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