The world dawns in skies of steel. After all, it’s November,
but somehow this surprises me still.
If it can come to this point once more, clearly
the cycle has made no plans to end. I am here again;
lunging afraid at the doorway of winter. Gray.
Is it wrong to wish away what is a natural consequence?
If I throw my arms open to the frosted roofs –
the greenhouses now all tombs –
will the returning embrace warm me? You and me. Budapest.
Remember? Your yellow scarf on the bridge, the houses
made of marzipan, another November. Wander
with me in that cold, happy space. I know now
I was living a dream; I know now I am living a dream.
The dreamscape unfurls each night before me:
a coveted world of black and white.
Nov. 11, 2013
One of 30 Poems in 30 Days