A Postcard From Last Year's

”Hi”
Said Luna while she tugged her hands through her Jetglo hair.
-“I’m here…shall we get in?”
We headed towards the entrance, she wrestled with her umbrella.
It was cold, November everywhere.

We never talked much. In fact we hardly ever talked at all.
The simplest gaze would speak up for the words I could not tell.
Life complexities suggested everything was fine that way.

”you going?” I asked humblingly,
“Ooh”, Luna smiled in that way that makes you fall apart
-“Yes, home” She replied, “The last train home is leaving soon” – “bye”

The rain kept falling down, splashing on the broken asphalt,
grey buildings and low-lit streets sprayed with glitter.
Noisome passages through tube stations.

I knew I was invisible to her, the apex of the night.


Comments

Aiala Ruiz de Alegría said…
umbrellas should all be red.

n.b: http://www.hp-lexicon.org/wizards/luna.html
25 May 2007 at 17:41
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