THE WAY THINGS ARE
Sit down here, by this closed window
and think of it this way:
that not even dust remains
of what once might have been.
You know the properties
of hopes, of dreams, of rumours:
how rich the imagined landscape,
how true that stranger’s voice.
And then a sighting here and there
of those enchanters in their motley,
dancing like dervishes and singing
in the old tongue? Maybe.
But now consider this:
the light that shivers
in my brandy glass, the blue
fumes from my cigarette,
are of the real world.
Watch them with me now,
just the two of us, and know
from these my words and this
the sound of my voice,
the way things are.
12:19:33 AM 
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