Only the first stanza written - 8 months ago now.
Sunday's tragedy brought the poem back into focus, though it had never left my mind.
'Don't give it away' he said. Don't give my writing away... So the poems stagnate in covert detention. The side product of writing, not a product to be read.
A train rips off a track and heads to water. I'm doing the same.
Bronx 1
"Luck is a bend in destiny"
his finger traced the lock framing her cheek
as Metro North curving the Bronx tip at Spuyten Duyvil
etched madness into the edge of sleep.
-----
For you, brave sailor finding Me
come spoils of love
invisible to those who blow too weak.
The white gauze furled
2 bodies on boards
"Mi cielo."
His eyes traced the curling water she sliced
As swing bridge breaks the Empire corridor
aiding the unruly, breaking vice of the Great
