Silver Saxaphones

affection flitting filtered
in a bucket of mud
under the rain

soil slipped shoes
down the hill I
ponder weights thrown
down the sole you
walked me to my room
I would walk you to yours

under drunken stars
your breath swept up mine
sotto voce
and I thought on a crevice
of another time
where I was tired
and you were tired






I think I would like to move away now.