hier soir

January 15, 2007

that whisper
echo when you are
sitting in a mini van
just after the engine has
died
and
it is snowing outside.
Julia and i raced a train
home, it
slid without friction
without fear
it was so beautiful
the whole world in muted
silvers, the sky
iridescent
it is cold and we are
listening
walking by
my
self,
ice pricks on my cheeks
a phone ringing
hello?
hey, is it
you?
where
are you?
i knew that i would
throw snowballs at him,
or at least his window
(it doesn’t change,
after seven months)?
awkwardly sipping
decaf, please, my hat
spills onto the table
my head is
already
spilt

i don’t know if i can do this again –
it’s always meant too much to me.

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