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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJUWlS4pi_Y

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                                I

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How did they go again?

From what did they start?

Was it all they needed

But a single, snappy couplet

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So as to work themselves

Into art?

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                                II

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All the good ones began in empty spaces -

Empty apartments, cabins, basements, 

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Hotel rooms -

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Where the only thing

That could possibly

Separate you from the ceiling …

             Were the keys.

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As the late sun finished an early set

I looked out through my living-room window:

Past the house-plants - watered, healthy,

Draping - past the condensation

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That’d wandered from the kitchen’s oven -

From the hot-water, soaking in its sink -

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And settled upon the most distant window

In the absence 

Of a crack or crevice

From which it might’ve otherwise, escaped.

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And so I saw

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Through the kitchen,

Through the dinner, the dishes,

The window and its ornaments,

The sun as it slowly began

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To set.

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And I saw a lone street-lamp

Flickering to life

As it hung, heavy -

Enthroned into the quiet -

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But flickering there, regardless,

Waiting to paint into the snow

A silhouette

For all those

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That might just so happen

To chance their way past,

As they venture a stroll

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Beneath it.

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