Robert Klein Engler

Watch the Gap

The last time we waited here, I saw snow
fall randomly into the station's amber glow.
The snow seemed to be flakes of loneliness
shaved from light. From then to now I realized
that desire shapes the human heart the way
a potter's hands shape a bowl from clay.
Just a touch may bring a man to the ground.
Forgiveness takes awhile—or not at all.

The last beams of sunlight paint the canopy.
Among the obscure bumping together of our
atoms, a man takes his life into darkness.
Another works two jobs but can never hold
her again. The colored photograph bleeds
away even when he does not look in the drawer.
It must have been another life long ago
when he drew her breasts with blood and oil.

The train arrives with bells and flashing lights.
I jangle the few coins in my pocket and try
to place a word on our efforts that slip away.
There comes a purple tint to the sky, now.
Starlings, skirting in the air above the rails
see through the shadows—all aboard with our
betrayal and desire—the only reason to take
love away is to give back what is better.

Robert Klein Engler lives in Chicago and sometimes New Orleans. Just google his name to read his work on the web, or visit him at RobertKleinEngler.com.

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