now gone, gone,

I saw a man in Lyon.
He was at the train station.
He looked a bit wild.
He tossed his head back
and laughed.
He stood beneath
the departure signs,
still laughing
I heard the click-click-click
as the signboard changed.
Trains rolled out
leaving the station,
just as they always do.
Departing,
now gone, gone,
gone.
With his tattered shoes
and everything,
He was gone, gone, gone.

hands in earth
soil of
mother
still damp
rains have fallen
again
to stay here
maybe
but no
seasons will turn

the sky folds of gray

light in patches

it might be dawn

it could be dusk

to return

a decision

eyes too quick

to answer

what was

now no longer

sun burns off
morning fog

i drink tea
and watch

today i will
paint the ceiling

it is a perfect
day for that

i can’t help
but dream of summer

the taste of humidity
on skin

but for now
i have tea to sip

and a ceiling
to paint

next year
i think to myself

i’ll taste humidity
on skin

night’s here
warm blankets
my body
& returning once
again

a still house
i wait
then you come