little black dress
she wears
that night
and twirls
around the room
you like
she asks
that twinkle
in her eyes
yes
I say
very much
but more
I like
who wears it
she laughs
and twirls
circles
in the room
circles
in my heart
she twirls
other writing
morning in Moda this day in February
bacon eggs
a piece of toast
peel an orange
pour Baileys
in coffee
watch a cat
gingerly climb
the tree outside
and wait
for that moment
when peace descends
trading principles
trading principles
on the dark side
only breeds
heartache
in the light
this side of the world
that foot poised
as if ready for flight
the back arched
the head slightly tilted
a question there
to ask
but answers are wanting
on this side
of the world
after T.S. Eliot: words echo
words echo
stirring dust
causing shadows
to move on walls
of memory
the flea market
a 15 cent
NYC token
a small black purse
of old coins
a Boy Scout knife
a letter opener
old pocket watches
a broken gold chain
items of forgotten lives
for sale
one fine memory: for Gül
the scent of flowers
left behind
fill the air
and I am left
with one fine memory
of you
years: for Lady Isabeau D’anjou
years
they go
and go
and are gone
and with them
all of us
fade away
into the past
of someone else’s
memory
on listening to Frank
who I wonder
did he sing to
not in night clubs
in Vegas
or in film
but in those lonely hours
with the bottle dry
or in the studio booth
pouring that heart
onto vinyl
for those of us
with empty bottles
at 2am
that song
that song
wafting
through the rooms
brought you
to mind
and all I left
somewhere behind
Leonard Durso 