Balconies do bend

So, is this not life? No, of course not.

If you’ve been noticing lately,
Every time you move your head to the right
and look to the house opposite to you
the orange light wafting,

A girl stays there and a guy too
and they hang yellow lights
spread on their window sill
like hanging lines

I turn my head and look again
there’s been so much time to think, so much time to look
empty murmurs of the wind, alone differing from the lonely
lonely differing from the only

people sense what you mean to give
people know, secretly
why you say hello, nod that head and
shake those hands and with no fingers touching
people sense what you mean to give
and what you mean to take

So, you sit quietly and believe that trees do rustle
that pea cocks do meow every morning
so early that you haven’t yet fallen asleep
or managed to fall off the balcony
that brown sock you never went back for

falling happens in the mind and hardly ever
in the real world

Walking around looking at all those footsteps passing you by
the cars slowing down to a bend on the road
mirrors too dark to see
if it’s a man, a woman, a dog
or a familiar gaze

and just when you were asking yourself, why you felt less use full and yet not as use less
you see yourself sitting where you are
looking across the window
besides a cat you’ve known for 9 months
also looking across the window
at a moth humming through the night

You also see
A young woman slightly bending
more like leaning
Across her third floor balcony
Her house is
Two houses to the right of your hanging lights ‘ house

In a room full of possibilities

the darkness of her room behind her
the moon brown and tilted
her weight leaning against her balcony
and you with a sigh and a smile you possibly can’t fake
ask yourself, if this is not life? then what is?






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