POETRY

Between the fifth and the sixth
I laugh my heart out,
surrounded by everyone
that I've ever loved.

Their incessant activity
drops of wistful rain
on the tin roof of
my sturdy hence flat routine.

I note the fluttering of
Jules' colorful ring
above the chatter but
below my approval rating.

I see Arash dimly lit
against a cloudy sky
and my favorite composer
hums from Tangiers.

Here we are,
as the BeeGees predicted,
in a room full of
Strain-gers.

An afternoon's delight,
a blink of an eye,
unfocused and restless,
searching and mating.

I can't help but sing too,
out of tune of course,
in praise of my exile
in this world of tomorrow.

Jam10