Prospect Park

Newly green, but cold as jade
The day sleeps under the somber skies of providence.
Gray branches arch toward the center of tired avenues
and the muffled engines grow and fade,
one after another, quietly, in my mind full of you.
 
I walk faster to feel brave
But the rustling of your absence follows.
The shadow of your face is soft,
but everywhere on Benefit Street.
Doorways, sidewalks, signposts and steeples
are featureless bricks in a landscape that needs you
to lift the dusty slumber from its many crumbling walls.
 
At Prospect Park I stop and look out at the city
From here your words seem distant,
like the glimmer of the sea.
I’m searching the skyline for answers,
grabbing at doubts you left hanging,
like last night’s discarded garments
on the boughs of every tree.