DANCE OF THE VEILS

Nothing is

ever truly lost.

It’s just forlorn

as the sound

of jack-hammers

tearing apart

the real world.

I carry with me

many faces

long gone: coins

in my pocket

for the slot-machines

of life, songs

overheard

walking by an

exposed balcony

with a voice

that never forgets.

Sometimes the pain

comes back

like an orange

hanging ready

to drop

and to pick it

tastes bitter

in the mouth

but that rhythm

returns

and your face again

and all I’ve lost is myself

over and over

but somehow a body

moves forward

crab-like and sonorous

despite politicians

and the clamor

of public hypocrisy,

the dead seem to dance

around us in jest,

glad the earth

is under and beside,

never leaving.

Life too

is a memory.