Another Time

Another Time

How empty it is out here
on some corners,
even close enough to hear the others’
intermittent heaving.

And funnier still since these are
not the holding corners, not the kind 
to fill, or to be full, or not, these are instead
the kind that juts.

Midnight, like emptiness, is arbitrary
but we need, we need
the thing between two things
for definition, like side-light on a dancer.

Funny,
like not watching the big game:
The sudden brouhahas, then silences;
Roof-garden roman candles, and the spitting rain.
 
 
New Years, Paris – Robert Frank
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)
you never call, you never write...

(get in touch!)