Habana — I must leave you!
because the night clanks through
your dark streets, mechanical
and the night is dragging itself sparking
against the stones of the streets and its sparks
are only an approximation of stars,
Because of your numerous eyes I have
sold my typewriter; and scribble these
lines inside my head. Everyone’s fields
have started to burn, even my field is aflame
with the books that I have written or should
have written. Tonight the hills have an eerie glow
of war, while the inside and the outside
of apartment walls argue, jealous of the other
not knowing the difference hasn’t mattered
for years. I am tired of all this! Habana,
I must leave you. Hurry we must pack
our shadows, and our shirts. O how our words
have become palsied, ours has become a sad
language of gestures and daily white flags.
Hurry we must leave before our words fail us.
We must leave, my love, everyone has gone before us,
by grave or by sea. Even the moon has left
as a stowaway on a borrowed boat.
Featured image by joseba m. arginzoniz martin. Creative Commons License.