Siege

“In siege, life becomes the time
between remembering life’s beginning
and forgetting its end…”
–Darwish

the trains are leaving

the station

to unknown towns.

the postman is roaming

in autumnal forests

with letters without addresses

the snowflake

unfurling

in slow degrees:

an analgesic

for grief-stricken streets.

the night is taking

a year to pass,

time, the memoirist

is collecting burns

of a different night

from another year.

your poem-

I read it again:

searching

for my epitaph

between lines.

Fever

It stays in you and grows within,

a landscape you remember from

childhood– a sky, a tree, a river;

It spreads in you,

touches your toes

recedes into the margins of flesh-

an ocean turning over in sleep.

The dream of an empty home,

where every object is filled

with an imminence of motion;

as if, someone is still living there.

It’s a town melting

in a precipitous evening;

its inhabitants,

possessed by a poem

roving in its everlasting streets-

speaking

with themselves.

~ ~ ~

Featured image: photo on Foter.com