Freaky Eyes

Tower

Traffic wakens me with whispering brush strokes
of tires on wet roads, snare-skin hissing,
and I imagine the tears of rain tracing paths on my windows.

Emptiness becomes sorrow again.

Before we ever touched
or imagined touching
there must have been an empty space
|room enough for the contractors
to haul in brick, hammer in rebar
pour the foundations, and raise
another tower to the cloud-traced sky

The streets whisper or howl
They shriek at times
The trains moan
beyond the cemetery in the night
none but clever hobos ride them

My tower rose within my empty heart
and filling my head
The riders in the box-cars hear the saxophone note
of the engine, and attain a vacant grace
their noggins are spacious
from the music of departures without arrivals

My tower remained empty too long
so solid, full and tall in my imagination
The ‘To Let’ sign has been removed
In point of fact, it never rose at all
for want of hands enough to build it

Unreal, it still casts a long shadow

(c) 10/2006
E. Walsh