Acer Sacharrum

The new year came in,

with bursts of light across the city scape,

like a flock of birds rising 

from the ashes of Phoenix's horizon.

We, and the cacti, watch the fireworks 

and cheer,

I found a ring I thought I’d lost

in the bottom of my bag.

I haven’t seen it since last spring —

It’s funny, isn’t it?

All these months,

I thought it gone,

all this time, I’ve just been

carrying it.

Don’t. 

Don’t you know? 

Don’t you know what I mean? 

Don’t you know what I mean when I say 

something isn’t right something isn’t right something isn’t right 

I — 

I could. 

I could, love. 

I could love you. 

I could love you if… 

I — 

I wanted. 

I wanted to. 

I wanted to, love. 

It's lying on its back 

on a large flat rock,

exposed to the grayish sky like an offering 

to some odd god.

There's a hole in its breast, 

It’s morning in Paris, 

and the city still sleeps, 

though the sun has long risen 

and the cat has long been stretched in the light 

that washes over the quiet courtyard.