Poem in which Longinus and I meet halfway
I am sitting with some chicken, soggy fries and
a hefeweizen I have just begun to enjoy
and I know I have missed too many nights like this.
I’m in my boxers at the kitchen table
in November with the windows open and
the landlord’s heat turned so high I almost feel like
summer—the back porch of Marisia’s third floor apartment—
the best view in all of
though you could only see the state building against
the mountains and some blinking radio tower lights.
But that was all it took, because though I never said it
sublime. Because what do absolutes matter?
when you speak of transport,
only context does. And that view was beautiful.
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