By RUTH ZURAW
how lovely to be alone
to trace a winding route in
how lovely to crave
to yearn for wood paneling and grimy tile
that failed to grace your bulbous eyes.
how lovely to creep and crawl
with numb, gnawing talons
over cracked and creviced tar,
to gaze between two unknowns,
the speck of gentleness on my horizon
an unshapely creature, at last abandoned.
how lovely to shatter the morning sky
in search of sun-soaked kitchens
and a far-off fiddle.