btw, see you guys in a while for the poetry reading in mag:net. starts at 8.
***
Hubris
Kicking leaves on the way home,
the rain pouring, the lover speaks of
the brokenness of history, how it keeps
forgetting the tragedies of small people,
their constant abandonment, says this aloud
to himself, to this perfect evening of his loss,
breezing past him now with such celerity,
he risks looking back, shuffling his feet
in the process, and falling once again,
imagining his beloved equally drenched,
her hair dripping, that very same fall, standing up
and the focusing on, to some other direction
in his mind, toward day, sunlight, this need
to divine change, master it in a way, rip open
the aging tomes and include his little story,
write of the rain, his recovery, his waking to mist,
his time with clouds, that white union with space.
