At night, large ships sail past
all lit up, furrowing the horizon with deep
presentiments of sorrow. How quiet it is
in the chambers of memory! The cheap hotel,
the iron bed-frame, the cigarette butts on the stairs,
an antique candlestick on the wash-stand.
When you looked out the window to the west,
there were stars in the small sky, and a bicycle
propped against a wall. The next morning,
it poured rain. You hadn’t slept all night.
But still you lingered, hoping that Diotima
would show herself in the depths of the mirror.