How can I write about love
When the seagulls are circling this dirty patch of the shore,
Hovering above what looks like the carcass of a dove?
They circle but don’t soar.
How can you think about her
When the wind won’t stop blowing all the dust into your eyes,
When you would rather go than look upon that naked bird?
Better blind than hearing cries.
How can we dream about rain
When once hits, it always burns our precious bits of flesh?
When rain has been informed that we won’t leave and need no chains,
We always think it’s fresh.
How can she talk about breath
This easily, as if she’s ever known this rancid air?
As if she can relate…
As if she’s guessed it’s there.