top of page

Another Time

They pulled the ivy from the walls, my love,
and yesterday dropped from the cracks,
unboarding the windows, forming the key
again in my hand. Your eyes,
dark against the ground, do not track
the flipskirt fancies tripping along the road.
You, who envied my idleness, are idle now
while I was always occupied. You didn't ask
about the thoughts that filled my mind, or why
I didn't speak. You knew me as space
begging to be filled by your secretive smiles.
The key unfolds. My words fill gaps 
left in stone by the passing of a parasite. 
Leaves are ground to dust beneath my heel.

In response to Always For The First Time

by Andre Breton

bottom of page