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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