November 2015 Poem by Anna Pae

The rainy days,
the smell of wet leather,
the rustic ornaments of your desire,
pale, pallid and abstract,
you stand before me,
you do not speak a single word.

I let the silence build a wall between us,
my thoughts are rough and inadequate,
they fumble at the seams,
yours like a tiny swallow chirping,
falling, cold and absolute.

Cast out of its nest,
it tries to fight the vultures.
It escapes beneath
the shallow beech logs.
I try to look away when it is slaughtered.

The darkness of midday hovers above us,
as I try to close the metallic gate behind me.
You stay behind,
a thousand wasps swarm inside your guts.

I melt into one with the graveyards,
chimneys and rooftops.
Just a pair of muddy footprints
filled with water lilies glowing in the dark.