Currently

A poem

Bad photo, my photo.

Closing down the day, a layer of powder and a liquid moon,
plants edging the closed cafe, left to die.
I cannot stomach the brutality of nature.

In the gentle wind’s nudge, I find myself able to move.
What a misplaced sense of empathy,
looking down at other onlookers, forgetting
I too am alone tonight
between the ease of the dark harbor's smell
and the last restaurants closing down.

The yacht, among smaller boats, keeps it real
keeps it minimal, obliterating under its light’s glow
any memory of death, any memory of theft.
A window: a tiny black hole.

In this city of failures
of murmured violence
in this city
pregnant with many other cities
pregnant with other cities…

With the eucalyptus, I smile the arrival of rain.