2020.12.01.
The lights
A skinny streetIn a black dress
Is spying on me
Through a dark window.
The freezing air
With its wax pen
Writes on the (window) glass
That we are doomed.
The groan of the blind walls
Has shot the world right through,
To the fourth floor
The echo resonates.
But the lights are (so) far away.
The slim outline
Of the blinding storefronts
Hides the tracks
Of all that's kept inside.
To miss a (bus) stop,
To know for sure:
That the spring was hiding nearby,
It was so close.
But the lights are (so) far away.