Thursday, October 27, 2011


The movement of the clouds 
makes the earth spin faster.

There is no space between 
horizon and sky.

In Genoa the hotel window
opened to an industrial port

while the television spilled
insistent news into the shallow room.

I longed for a familiar word and went
momentarily crazy for lack of English.

Distances expose our most 
vulnerable selves. I still remember

the blue wine bottle that cast 
blue moonlight on your skin in

Positano, the taste of raisins wrapped
in lemon leaf that clung to your lips.

I mine these memories because
I have none left, there is only the 

dream of going forward,
where no one else has been.

--Martin A. Bartels (working draft)

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