He knew his star rose before his birth
Galib
As if – near the end of my days – I stepped into a stream mid-stream
unable to move forward toward an impervious destiny nor go back
where my lover’s death was my sole absolute
Returning in rainy night mist I stalled at the threshold listening to fizzles of rainwater
tapping fallen amber-tree leaves content as if December’s penetrating cold
existed to prove me wrong
As it lightens I sit and wait like the lean tensed form of the pianist crabbed over the keys
intensity fiercely held against liminal divide – not yet not yet – his body jerked back
again not yet