raincity

at dusk

sun setting on an april day in paris 

I messaged you 

as if I was sending letters

by carrier pigeon 

to an enemy fort 

hidden in the alps 

at first

you were the loud boy on the bus 

with a red lunchbox 

full of day old spaghetti in a dented thermos

and parmesan your dad brought back from italy 

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked 

this will be

the first 

and the last 

dance 

we'll share 

I'll be wearing pink

riding high on a childhood dream

waltzing 

like it's 1945

the east is enveloped in blue dark

the plane that carries you

diving into the abyss 

while the west appears to be engulfed in flames

a simple view from the deck

of a slow moving boat 

Feet in thick socks 

Shuffle through the halls 

And across the kitchen floor 

Hands reach into cupboards 

Rearranging and putting away

Mugs 

And plates