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I think
back to
japan
the little
lovers
there,
seeing them
open
their souls
along the
hinode pier,
and freely
give a
loose candle,
losing
its way
in the
careen of
sumida river

deep gorges,
lighting
a path
of no
return,
near terrains
where trains
come to
reunite a
rail of longing
slant faces,

long silky
black hair,
the women
how they
stand
loyal
to their
man,
like tea,
noodles
and rice
in matrimony,

I paid
a visit
that once
was, saw
a couple
under a
magnolia tree,
where the
birth of
a bird
was taking
place,
a blue
stone
eggshell,
that cracked
like ancient
porcelain
dolls face,
before a
songbird
carried
a tune
into
the flaming
sun.

I return
to my spouse
back in
boston,
disappearing
completely
in the
heavy
curtains
as my
car pulls
up,

her face
dark
and
busted
in the
living room
window,
where
we sit
ironically,
remotely
dead to
each other,
before
a television
that always
blows smoke,

and
a candle
that lost
its flame
years ago.

 


Anthony is currently raising his two children on his own. His poems have appeared in several print and online journals, and he has four collections of poetry books.

© 2010, Anthony Liccione

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