…He Thought He Was a Skywalker

the city breathes warm
in the winter morning's chill

it breathes, rising cloudy
against the falling snow

through my window
I know there are people
because I see their smoke and steam
that billows writhes and fades

a city of people
like snowflakes in a fog
morning traffic
like drifts in a wind


love seeps out through fissures
from the center of the earth
molten swirling magnetic

leave these thoughts here
bustling like a Pompeii
blocked like a mosaic
so human as they are caught bathing and so forth


in the morning you
leave a trace
a warmth on the bed
your breath
a warmth upon the air

I wish that you were here
beside me now
breathing the breath of sleep
on my shoulder

and the wealth
of our existence

I would horde
I would bury we two
deep in the warm earth
under the flowing rock
(time’s roots wont’ penetrate)
to mix with all the mass
that holds me here

while the sky draws coldly
my smoky breath