Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Resolution

The history of smiles
is a book I haven't finished,

despite this calendar of empty days,
my cloud-like sofa warmed in the sun,

the now hushed familiar voices:
"Do you want to? Will you?"

I gather each piece of myself,
my tarnished résumé,

the list of old promises and lost names,
a bottle of flat wine and the moldy apples,

all together in a net bag,
open the window and fling them.

There's a chrysanthemum of sparks.
Why not make a ritual of ashes?