A Game Poem by RIC BASTASA

a bird embraces
the wings of the winds
its beak sips
a cloud

a cloud pours its
burdens

hence the rain
runs through the furrows
of your skin

the contours of your cheeks
the lines of your body

it is all a game
the cards we play
the words we say
we do not really
mean it

but departures sometimes
though usual and routinized
still hurt

there is no complete familiarity
with pain

even though we agree
that this is all a game
that tonight is just a moment
of breathless expectations
when you utter the last word
finally

i think i still cry
my heart still knows pain
a little prick

at the bottom of things
quintessential