Distracted by loneliness, I leave my apartment
but remain in its orbit.
The descendent street matches my mood.
Through the courtyards of the oldest buildings
The dust of the past century floats—
In shades of shedding moths,
A kind of parallel universe teases.
Front doors open.
There is interest or there is not.
A man in a cap takes his trash curbside.
The sight of the radio pressed to his ear
reminds me that I have missed
the start of baseball season.
A woman in clogs stands on her stoop
A darkness that follows dusk absorbs her.
Her face in deep contemplation comforts me.
In that moment we are on the same trajectory
and she is in my constellation here on earth.
Topic(s) of this poem: poem