Walking in the Rain

Always now someone
You know, the ghosted one
Without a name
Troubles me
And I throw words back—
Up river, broken window
How thin my wrists
My small life
I didn’t know you
Not well enough
Don’t we want
Twilight and discernment
Books that lie open
In memory
Come closer
Do come
It’s raining in New York
At twenty
Reading Nietzsche
I saw how his eagles
Were real
And how little
He liked them
Go ahead
I told myself
Make a vow
I’ll be respectful
Of my imaginaries….

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto