Prague, your skin reads like emptiness
(for Ambronese)
There was a home and a
family that belonged to her.
She
revealed her true self to
me and now I must do the
same. The mysteries of my sorrows
are like a constellation beyond
the trees. Emptiness lingers
there. It will be hours until
I sleep. And when that fire
comes, I will dream under nightfall. A million stars.
It will be a quiet victory in
the morning hours. I search
for the familiar in children. Old photographs
pasted in wedding albums.
I find myself there as I pick up
this pen and begin to write.