Is there poetry outside of love I
wonder knowing that somewhere yes
in the distance lips are pursed and tears
are running down her nostrils and the full
moon has passed into the clouds and all hope
has been lost Like a subway train the act
of love passes
and the flicker of lights
on 6th Avenue serves only to deep-
en the misery of self-awareness
The truth comes in several colours you
take your pick but the consequences are
invariably the same Pale flowers
because the day is long and so much space
to fill with words and silence
and dry tears
John Lyons