Tagged: pockets

perhaps life and death

perhaps life and death
start with a cab ride, meter
running, waiting for

a destination – my hands are
deep in these pockets, searching


meeting savannah

meeting savannah
was like meeting an old friend,
pockets full of sweets

i know, and now you

i know, and now you
know, how this will go –
there will be
one week when i will
be indecisive about emptying
the wicker trash bin in the
bedroom, months when i
will avoid vacuuming
one or two corners of the
apartment for fear of
erasing you, a year or
five may go by before i
walk down that street
or head to the cloisters
again, and still, there
will be pockets within
, here and there,
when i will, without so
many words, bump into
the feeling the last time…
was with you
over and
over, until you become
like a fragrance from
lifetimes before

let us nurture the

let us nurture the
things we do not yet
know of each other –
memories saved in lost
pockets for rainy
days, chapters
that turn up on every
other corner
in the east village,
the strangeness
that only gets
stranger with
waiting – allow
us to earn
more questions

we fill our pockets

when holding and being

waking to