Between the moon and this Montblanc
I have sold
the earthenware jars
of my cracked illusions
and the childish clothes
that no longer fit
in exchange for freedom
and scrubbed the grime off the walls
to make them as pristine
as the body of a woman
who has come to terms
with her own past

Between tomorrow and tonight
I am writing
the last sad poem
for the most recent
tragic-ending story
and signing my name to make sure
the last ounce of bitterness
is locked between the paper
and the ink
purifying the air
in readiness
for the next promise of the infinite

Between the clear-paned window
and the sky
I shall bequeath myself
to the kind of sweet smiles
that can knock on a man’s heart
and sing a hopeful song
and take a full-color photograph
of the soft, permeable calm
for posterity

for a change
I shall pass on the coffee
and sleep
an unbroken sleep
between a prayer
and pale pink linen sheets

so that in the morning
I can flip over
the ‘Closed’ sign that hangs on my door
facing the street
and walk the tree-lined path
that runs between
the indelible sunlight
and the prospect of falling in love