The poet sits late at night, in the shadow of his own creation.
Reciting a love poem in an abandoned railway station,
no one hearing but the pigeons and the poet.
The poet could be satisfied with the pigeons
if only they would signal they understand there’s
more to the poem than tears and dust.
But pigeons have no way of knowing
what the poet means when he says “I am alive with you”
to the woman he wishes could hear him, to the woman
he hopes would listen to his words without judgement.
Love accepts no boundaries, no limits of right or wrong.
She could be his friend’s wife or his wife’s friend; maybe, she’s not.
It sounds wrong, it looks wrong, it feels wrong, but it’s not.
She is the other woman, the other soul mate, the one of whom
he is so afraid; she could bring the building down in dust.
The poet sits late at night, hoping to catch a train long since gone.
Thank you, Robin. I very much appreciate your comment.
I love this poem. It is beautiful and breathtaking. Thank you for posting it.