Alloy, Usually Hardened
(response to “How Would You Like…”)
This is what you call joy
created through an amalgam
of death and rhythm
an admixture of metals
in a city nothing more
than concrete and dreams
built from frozen seconds.
Kodak Instamatic, a birthday gift
which only captured black and white.
I could tell from your face
radiant
in a way I would not see again
even on the third, fourth, fifth marriage
your finger heavy with the weight of
so many rings
that I was dancing
twirling like a clumsy ballerina
just outside the boundary of the frame.
I’m still dancing
no more graceful than I was then
caught in the suede fringe of your
famous jacket.
Just behind you, behind him
is a couple kissing
against a winter tree
no leaves, just a ghost of a tree
a ghost of love.