AUSENCE

To N

Yesterday it was a naked and dirty room,

with its wide and high windows,

invincible roaches running careless by the floor,

eluding our shoes,

and a deceitful intimacy sense everywhere.

The yellow afternoon’s sticky light

damped skin like a toxic breath.

Extended silences were almost joyful, and

distant and warm hours emerged in quanta:

reminiscences from a luminous time,

concealed expectancies maybe.

Soul is a starving wolf.

There is not two identical dawns.

Space varies like a heart beating.

Now, this ugly room is mine again and shorter,

only I walk and pretend into.