Literature
washington square
The moon,
half faceless,
dangles delicately from
a hook, line, sinker, and coaxes
people from postage stamp
apartments. They gather
on park benches and
lawn arrangements, lovers
and friends and strangers alike.
The crackles of conversation
melt like chocolate into warm palms,
and it all swirls upwards
and blends into an incoherent,
vocal cocktail.
Spurts of
laughter burst
between teeth like
tangerine slices,
the juice dripping
from upturned lips,
and this carries upwards too,
the still, summer air now
colored with oranges.
Two saxophones
pour their musicians’ souls
out their open mouths.
Their swan songs rise
and collide lik