February 6, 2023

love, alone

love alone sees both her men crack,
like humpty dumpty falling off a wall, yet
deep down, where no one else looks, she’ll
locate the dot in the nook, where love still persists-

the gift now is to see them clearly, sweet
as they once were, though autumn always had
a back door leading to a poached afternoon sun-
but, in the dappling dusk she still smells long island

the way it once was, unlike salt water in a city bucket

still she loves the old bleecker st where leaves
lightly toss across the bald stretch ahead, showing her
poetry blows to bits in a chilly breeze that imagines love,
such as it is, in old age

yet its at night in the brooding dark
that it sinks her, w/out place
and w/out words, delighted
she’s robbed of herself