As if to hang
A wet towel
In a room where many before have hung
Their wet towels
As if to slide
The balcony door
And watch a secretive sunset
As many celebrated before
As if to light
A dried cigar
And in the lonesome sunset rays
Exhale, as if incense for a prayer
And then to write
A note in ink
And write again, way after dark
To those unknown, for them to read
… As if to be
The last vagabond
Who hung a wet towel
After sunset, on a wall, in a room
Where men have loved
The moment of loving alone
And women have wondered if men
Can still love them more
As if to forget
That love is of seasons
No matter how wet the cotton towel
Or how secretive seems a sunset
As tomorrow
All towels
Will be
Dry
January 14, 2014
© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment