Laying Across the Floors of the City
Laying Across the Floors of the City
By Rina Shamilov
I took a picture once
at night
as the streets snored into the pavement
& the cars stilled, framing the window shields
(like the cold sweat of my hands
rimmed your face)
I don’t remember whether it was in The Heights
or in Brooklyn
or in some other shivering place
or in Memphis—
whose nights are wine- mulled & numb
spreading burgundy across the sky
with foamy undertones
of the lashing evening
the sun might come out soon;
in a few hours, give or take,
& I'll be out of this place for good
& nothing will chase away the
sector of the sun that bends
beneath my eyes
when you held me, it was still warm outside
now I picture your face every time I see mine
in the frozen window shield
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