Resisting the urge to adopt a kitten before she leaves Belgrade.
Watching Star Trek. Again.
Working on her roundhouse kick.
Listening to Rachmaninov.
Thinking about doing some yoga. Will probably bake cookies instead.
on the road
in the dark
in a park, underfoot.
I had to stop and take a look.
Blended lines, crepuscular
shine and legs that move like shadows
in the corner of my eye.
I said you go my path and I’ll
before the road becomes unsafe.
We’ll see how far I scuttle,
legs like spindles,
typist’s fingers on a great concrete swathe.
Impassable for such small souls, she says.
To reach the other side you risk
that spit-polished shell,
your protection and your praise,
sunbathe and ricochet.
So hurry! This twilight
is coating her way. In hindsight –
she falters –
this may have been a mistake.