Cornices overgrown with moss, the stoop
With nettles, flower beds
Hardly discernible beneath brambles and weeds—
Subsequent door was a spot the place drinks
Have been bought, so I ordered
A glass of pink wine. The Earth?
For years it by no means modified, stated the bartender.
Now youngsters received’t come round at evening.
Doorways shut by themselves
As if clouds have been gathering—bang!
Footsteps climb the staircase, one, two—
I paid the tab. Does something keep
There—hatred, the capability for love?
There’s the infant within the pink striped sweater
In opposition to blue sky, my left hand
Holding her, my proper the digicam.
She’s smiling at you.
We’re invisible, like the ocean.
This poem seems within the September 2022 print version.