Buenos Aries

The luxury of multiples
Becomes the boredom of waiting
And I find myself in review
Of words, of thoughts, of this day
The wide avenues here serve
To remind me of the path I now
Look out upon
Dessert hits me like a drug
Or an arousing caress
I am not cold or afraid
I have chosen not to look at much
Yet, but I am still moved by the curve of a statue,
The hands of a waitress, a horse being guided around
An urban course, my rest becomes the neglect of my outdoor eye,
Soothed by the shapes of Monk and the
Brutal grace of a falling hockey player.

And I feel you missing me
But not more than me missing you.