March

Through the whole month of March there was cigarette smoke rusting in the corners of my breath
A pale sky drooped down the horizon and spilled into the meadows
The way bathroom tissue rolls, mood uncertain,
Sprawled across the warm tiled floor.
In a noisy background central heating was humming some tune to itself
While VCR and TV shared a few private jokes in black and white
At which I tried to smile occasionally.
Through the whole month of March in almost furious silence a heavy snow was chasing me
My shadow she tripped and flew.
Boarding gates made lovely parentheses
Between 10 time zones I stood, recollecting
Roads that slipped the wheels and faces that fled the eyes
Words, unspelled, trailing and cast like mailboxes in an arid landscape
So long forgotten it mattered no more if they
Were not empty after all.
Through the whole month I slept, my nameless me and I
As the days of false sun repeated themselves
Marching in
Marching out.


('97)