there you perch
so precariously
on my eyelids
your name
on the tip
of my tongue
always you
on the edge
of my mind
like some specter
of what remains
just out of reach
other writing
still an hour away
water drips
through a filter
the aroma
of freshly brewed coffee
in the air
while I wait
for the sun
still an hour away
turning right
roads go
in two directions
the trick
is turning
right
even if
it’s left
except in my memory
the way
you handled
books
as if
they were
sacred objects
you were not
my type
and yet
you were
exactly
what I was
seeking
how did I
misplace you
forever lost
except in my memory
my words
my words
come back
to me
in the night
reminding me
of all
I’ve said
and all
I’ve wanted
to say
waiting still
let the sun rise
let it set
let the winds blow
the house quake
I am here
waiting
still
something else
the mornings
were almost perfect
in those LA days
but the nights
oh the nights
were something else
a world of changes
the cat
wraps himself
around my arm
his only constant
in a world
of changes
the unknown
future
just outside
the door
reading three newspapers a day
my father’s eyes
were tinged
with sadness
even when
he smiled
with occasional flashes
of anger
at what
could only be called
life
this
I grew to understand
came from reading
three newspapers
a day
morning arrives
the sun rises
as drums beat
in the distance
morning arrives
Leonard Durso 