Drip on the edge of memory

 

Thursday, January 29, 2015

 

I feel the curve of the river

Press against me as I walk

This lonely walk along the Hudson

In not-so-desolate Hoboken,

The chill wind kissing my cheeks

When I ache for more,

The trembling last leaves

Of last fall’s harvest clinging

To barren limbs,

Tender brown fingers

Rubbing the bark with the same

Affection I feel in memory,

This breath of air stinging me

And yet making me ache for more

As if pleasure and pain

Cannot be subdivided in a town

Where everything gets boxed up,

My limbs like tree limbs

Waiting for the coming of spring

To burst again into hard buds

That bloom and drip with a spring

Time due, the taste of the air,

Lingering at the tip of my tongue

As I swallow and feel the chill

Go down deep into my bones,

Where all things reside,

Like an unresolved remembrance
that drips off each edge of me,

Filled with the promise of satisfaction

I never feel