We sat in the hollow day
Seeking surfaces
To hold
What had already gone away
Someone left
A broken Christmas wreath
In a dry heap
Next to a lost, tinsel-hairy tree
Near the bridge
We are about to walk beneath
The museum is empty
For the holiday
The relics frolic in the ghost hallway
Where the ancient secrets sleep
Or wake
To remind us of the truth
We are ghosts who frolic too
I hold your hand
Against the cold
The year is new
But we are older than we used to be
New York sidewalks welcome us
We know each other
And the bus to take
To bring us home
I think a thought of Christmas past
We were in Rome
With everything that does not last
Cities, countries, planets, stars
We walked the ruins
Saw the scars of time and place and
Stone avatars
That haunt each street
I looked at you
You looked at me
We kissed
A kiss of melancholy
Sweetness
Felt the sidewalk
Guide our feet
Past centuries we could not see
Moving there, along with us
In New York now
We take the bus
With all that loss inside of us
We are
What we can still call home
But close our eyes
And think of Rome
© 2023 Julie Flanders
April is Poetry Month Day 28
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October Process 