Читать книгу Breathing Space - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 12

last night, I woke to the sound

of the wind gusting outside the

apartment window, listened to

it searching for a message to

borrow from the other side of

the border, where laughter is

still more real than the tears

pouring to the city sidewalks,

I prayed in the shivering arms of

night, a quick word would float

into the room that you somehow

would see in the walk north a light

in front of the building and then

make your way to it. in the mournful

village you left behind, on the soft lips

that kissed you farewell, across a shrinking

distance, I could almost hear the wildly

shouted praise of the tiny church offering

you the company of a border crossing God

to carry on the weary trip. I will stay awake

waiting for the telephone to ring and

in the bare night hear your sweet brown

lips declare, I am here!