THE VAULT
The room walked away
the way a wolf gets its sea legs
in a shipping container.
Everything not had
then had
& more often. The prescription pad
did a dance. In the alley –
womblike, summer’s
5am blue. Within the cage
of each willow, the distance
sounds like music.
There is always somewhere
to hide.
THE VAULT
the inexplicable whole
_______the it without antecedent
_______the fog that forms like a father disintegrating in a purple chair
who am I without my clothes & friends
_______my linens
snow on the ocean unseen
_______on the coldest day of this November
we made a day of it
_______it
laid there for hours as our mice crept into the stove
THE VAULT
on the station platform a snap of wind followed by my reflection
______those riders riding through me
as if I were a ghost or had wings
______& their reflections on the opposite plexi-glass pane
which is both tunnel-wall & mirror
______I have seen them in restaurant windows as I pass alone
rooftop
______palm of light
in my one life
______I have stood above the labyrinth
& touched what is not there
***
Photograph of Andrés Cerpa by Alice Plati.
