Chicago Moon Poem by RIC BASTASA

the aura of dusk
it walks alone at
segregated paths
you walk
towards a room
which can never
be your home
for your home is here
and there is no
promise
that you will come
back

no one figures out
the reason
for this self
ostracism

if you ask me there
are designs for
happy shapes which
time in some ways
shall teach
us
how to mold and cut
and finally
show


you walk away and
that is the end of
how we can think of you
what we have is a mist
and then
the morning light
takes it
away

i know how cold it is
there
but what can we really do?