Wanderling❁

Untitled

 

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You didn’t think

Or maybe didn’t care

How a body feels the trauma of a cold goodbye

Winded like a sudden gale robs the hillside of respite

So every winter when I stand

On the stoop dusted with ice

Clouds of lonely breathing

I never utter the word

I am afraid of the cold

Afraid of the way it makes me remember

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Religious

 

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This life is enough to make me pray

the same way love is the only true rite of passage

A swirl of steam

is it my coffee or the subway breath

Ah, miraculous, the air of heaven smells just like my city

and if there is a God, I see him when the train stops

the soundless street above damp with rain and beautiful in the moonlight

I go to my knees before paintings and vinyl static jazz and last month’s lover

but never before an altar

I wonder what kind of devotee that makes me

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