poem: boy alone, watching a girl

there are lilacs coming up under
her skirt—

and she stands in shadow
on the concrete,
fat clouds making dreams
behind her.

i watch her and imagine:
maybe my fingers are touching
the raw strands of hair
coming loose
around her small face,
instead of the sun.

maybe if we breathed
at closer times
the world
would stop.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s