The ambulance slumbers on the curb
silence is defined, though never clear
as you were before.
In the crevices you see
the corrected reflections, reversed, all caps,
tell me your name as each siren speaks
lullaby: code words, maybe
other things familiar,
your lover’s palms bandaging the syringe
sting. I knew you once before —
a summer day, the sky hardly aware
of impending seasons I know not names of.
The slight tremor jolts you awake enough
to avoid this becoming a funeral. Hands
clasped together. Yours, cold.
In another room, I am still waiting:
a crack, a break in this window we see
the ambulance slumbers on the curb — your silence:
once a kiss on the cheek
now an asphalt expanse in the city’s heart.
19 January 2013
Loading Point, Xavierville