Alt-Wien

small raindrops dance a smoky waltz outside
the windowpane, leaving their trails within
an autumn wind. leaves fall; it’s cold, come in –
and the wooden floors yield for bare feet, slide
creakily against each other. thunder, unseen,
rolls in the sky, an ailing heartbeat green
with dreams of summer. hours spent close beside
the crackling tease of popsicles in springs
are only times that winters can recall –
old vinyls spin people into dances – light
curves through these memories, falls on ruby rings –
the furry snuggle of a dog – the hall
where paint is peeling, aged, that softly sings
of one two three one two three… come in, it’s night.

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