(page 19)by ben mazer
i hunt the houses where you left your mark
in wooden objects and paint surfaces
for him or her. the hesitating dark
unveils your love in words that never cease
illuminating rooms that we have left
or you left earlier, replaying scenes
where secrets whisper louder and arrest
the underground oblivion of our dreams.
because you put a gun to love my love
dies full of bullets under the plane tree.
you are laughing almost from above
at nothing really, what we choose to see
because you meant in doing what you did
the full extent of love before you died.
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