why spring is late

morning rain, gray skies
clouds fleeing, who knows where
on the distant dim horizon
impossible to distinguish clearly
farther than your latest trip
I no longer imagine the landscape
somewhere exotically strange
for you always forget the photos
there is no warmth today
I'm left imagining the fireplace
with logs blazing…
fell asleep with another good book
light glaring eight hours later
(I seem to remember the sex was lousy
virtual memories are short-lived)
and the other side of the bed
is piled with extra pillows
to imitate your presence
the cat finds a place somehow
among the books stacked there too
leaving a circle of warmth
where yours should be
but never mind…
after a cup of tea
maybe a croissant or two
if I find the energy to go out
(will the baker mind if I arrive in my bathrobe?)
then back under the comforter
to collect more ideas about absence
(my new area of expertise)
until mid-day in mid march
while the winter hangs desperately
onto the idea that broken couples
shouldn't have any temptation
to walk in springtime parks
full of rekindled life
when no one is there
to share




why spring is late
21 march, 2006