Rooms, Streets, Streets, Rooms
Stephen Mead

Going back:
this window, breeze,
these curtains fluttering,
& the smiles outside;
they were without shadows...

​Before...there is always before:
One tired body melting
upon another, converting the world
to a let loose balloon...

Rooms & streets drift in & out of us:
Candle tongues, loon lake reflections,
moths of frenzy, moths of forget...

Later, fan-spread, the mundane was
that sensuous:
Cheap wine, canned ravioli, our laughter
a garment taken off, tree-alive, without
puppet strings, without stagnancy,
the dead dream,
the dead wind
of every street & room

​I have since become at peace with.