Impermanent, cigarette smoke trails, lasted as
trace spire on walls thin a wax wrapping
yellow teeth colour, stewing Jazz Age
scent, heady breaks from mouths of
mushy men beneath the half-lit lamppost.
The neighbourhood's bully boys had spray-painted
some vulgar thing on the building's arcade arch,
black-green paints, edges fuzzy as old
photographs, scratched as aged vinyl copies,
it said a flash-thought of you.
Far across time's reach, there is nothing in our
town so grand: it was all built on 60's confidences,
now pushed around in rain-soaked tatters,
carriages of neglected babes flown far from
mother's breast. It was a vision in stuck-on siding,
you stood out from the rain gutters.
Difficulty of Goodbye
Closely-held, for a pause-brief moment,
slipping from view as a rusty pane's water,
blank wind cast-backs rattled the door screen,
your arms crossed as two pallid, underwater
latches, was the last time we touched.
It was months going with a windy cascade,
down-course from the grassland basin of the Ottawa
Valley, the loping slope came as walls of jail
stone, keeping cross the one-way streets dotting
in bureaucratic tie fashions, laminated ID cards.
When you came back from the frozen
midlands of the English countryside, accented-speaking
and all that, it was red-faced calm, drained
dry from criss-cross flyings, I came close
for another time, the cold comfort was
same as always.