David Krump

Al Modicana

Its oneness being a whole separate sphere
The train hurtled through an opening in the light
Mountain. Carrying what--a few hobo families?

The tracks shine about 100 feet from this little house.
Someone should say something about last night 2 am.
The freight train shook my little bed like a lover coming back from

The bathroom, a late snack, or a moon risen walk through the
Film of a dream of mispronounced roses, a mumbled sweet phrase
About rows and rows of chocolate roses melting slowly under an un-sourced white light.

I swear, along the route, we left our baggage on the gray conveyor
Belt and are now, since the train has passed, still sitting there at
The stone topped table in that little Italian restaurant in Germany,

Your favorite in all of Cologne. And I have come to see
You, to try to love you in another world, where I understand so little, but it is your
Birthday again and so I begin to weep over the carafe of wine.

It has been a rough year, what with all these semi-tragic letters mit luftpost
And all these different midday sobriquets which I keep connecting to you
While you sleep in some sad small bed, dreaming in another language.