One day, then another day.
Love, promises, imploring.
Light collapses in searing darkness,
reduced there to fragile gray ash.
Ash and rain, a wan sky
reflected in shards of windows.
A mouthful of bitter herbs
and a phone call I might make
if I could find the time.
Would someone answer it?

There is a question I could ask
but I’ve forgotten how to start.
Held breath, then empty space. Laughter.
Excavated layers of ash that hide enigmas.
A mouthful of bitter herbs
before I have another cup of coffee
and steel myself for the rain.
There are no answers, and anyway
my phone’s been disconnected.

Where are you? I have looked in all
the old places, up and down the street.
Maybe I’ll go inside, away from the noise.
A mouthful of bitter herbs
in a country of watchful eyes, where
no comfort abides in still waters.
Answers, abandoned words, desire.
Then a holy flame that comes up suddenly
to illuminate the hollow place between my lips.

Copyright © 2020 Vasily Ingogly. All Rights Reserved.

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