Yesterday, through my translucent looking glass
I watched, from the deepest recesses of my desire
A girl, who in a Brooklyn bath
Washed her radiance in the hydrant's fire
I lit my last cigarette
Leaned against the concrete sill
And began to palm a beat till
The rhythm matched my swirling breath
The blue smoke ringed and broke
Into ghostly frowns and grins,
Hazing the air. Children swinging rope
Encircled her image in soundless spins
I maintained. The idyll scene's a glist
Or summer glaze, and in her dripping mascaraed
Eyes
I slipped into the dream of kiss—
The painting of paradise.
Continue
Stay in the room a little longer.
Your reading record
Checking who has held this poem...
Part of your record in the archive.
Sign in if you want your name to stay with the record.
Your shelf
Keep this one close.
Saved on this device. Part of your shelf.
Share this poem
Send the line onward, save the story image, or pass the poem to someone who needs it.
Sign in if you want shares and story actions to carry your name in the archive record.
Delivered by Substack
If this poem stayed with you, the next one will find you.
A quieter way to stay close to the work. One poem at a time.
New poems and explorations
Delivered by Substack.
Listening room
Hear the poem in one breath.
A studio reading for the archive, voiced with care and restraint.
Studio reading
The painting of paradise0:00 / 0:42
Read the original post on Instagram3 likes on Instagram
Part of a living collection since September 2024.