ALONE WITH TWO CANDLES FLICKERING


From my little corner of chaos,           I try
treating your order disorder by speaking

with shadows of smoke that run from wick
up the green wall darkly.
                                                      Unfortunately,
it appears that I’m pretty well paved over,

and that this wall is even darker than a shadow.

          ‘What does it mean to be in the city? And
          what does it mean for this city to be in you?’

          I forget to wonder as I wait for the rain to stop
within walls more solid than those separating

dream from occasional dream; for I am another soul
who got thrown back into the city.

I remember

running through the park, the world ours
to throw at each other,

                              world now falling too quickly

into place.
                      What would I be doing if you hadn’t left me
with so many half-drunk bottles?

Sometimes I don’t take off my huaraches while I rest
under the tent,

I wouldn’t want someone to steal them.
(To have to walk through this city barefoot,

I imagine, would certainly be a bitch.)
Wherever you are, please take a sip of water.