words

the click clack of her heels echoes sharply
in the narrow avenues of my brain,
the boulevards wherein she was mine
and i was able to know her.

the click clack of her heels comes back at me
through stone resonance
howling off the architecture of everything.

there is rhythm here, if it can be found,
there is rhythm here to manifest sound
in the form of jazz halls and blues joints,
the steady spilling of harmony out in to the night.

it is this way each time she leaves,
each time she goes it is this way,
her flowered gait leaves gardens behind
and i become a shadowed visitor
entangled in the ivy walls of her aftermath.

for a moment more it is as this,
a sprawling chaos rendered from hours of waiting,
hours of pretending,
watching satellites break from orbit
and fall back in with the others
as i stand waiting by the wayside
for a moment with this singularity.

-S.C. Martinez