domenica 11 novembre 2012

to Gerry

For the cities of Europe we wandered, bartering emotions, falling in love with women whose names we didn’t know how to pronounce. And yet, strangers to our own hearts we never were.
We simply tucked another memory into our suitcase and off we went, “hay que ir adelante,” we said: at the end of the day, a smile always waited at the bottom of a glass.
Dogs of a righteous pack, we seized every occasion to sing to the moon. Sometimes we tasted dreams; other times, bitter tears.
For such you were, and such you still are: a stray dog searching for the way back home… but mind, you are not alone on this path.
Our howls to the moon chase you in the sky, invoking your name: don’t you know? It’s your turn to pay for this round, now that the crying has dried our throats…

by Jason R. Forbus

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