March 29, 2009. Nicholson Square.

be brave birdie
he’ll come back
be brave
birdie
he’ll come back
be
brave birdie
he’ll
come back
he’ll
come
back to you


your departure makes for awful morning sun
on a sunday
in the square
sitting on a bench
in front of a dry water fountain
i am in the shade
nothing is open right now
goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye

all around me the sounds are big again
accelerating hums of buses,
their hisses,
heels hitting pavement,
shrill traffic lights squawking,
children,
the other people
i am still here standing behind your taxi
i am sitting on a bench
in the shade with wet cheeks
on a sunday in the square
with a pigeon at my left foot
the city moves around me

be brave birdie
he’ll come back
be brave
birdie
he’ll come back
be
brave birdie
he’ll
come back
he’ll
come
back to you

i am smelling your hot heart
beats, the twang of your chest hair,
scratching at the plate of my favorite dish,
i want a second serving
spicy,
sweet,
filling

aloneness swims into my pores
like invisible gas
on this square
on this sunday
though i think i still feel
the sacred dance of togetherness
it fades



i don’t even know if i can return to this bed.