Golden Ice Packs

Only loneliness knocks on my door.
I can see every night the same window
lit in the neighborhood.

Like warm vapors steaming up,
the light spreads skywards
through its living orbit
out of sight.
Stepping over the sill’s neck,
the sun has fallen in empty spaces
behind the eyelids.
Colors are swept in the iris
approaching the same wall
concentrically.

My palm sticks on air
like a geyser cornea under fog.
Reaching out it looks like
I’m not alone.

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Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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