There is the moon and silence, the fragrance

of the night;
there is you and me too, looking somewhere
for a place
where we can hide ourselves and sink into the
moment together;
to sit and witness the city collapses into
sleep–
there, one lucky bench leaning itself on a
nameless tree;
I said to myself, ‘She is dressed in autumn,
leather scent, ivory skin, in sweet-maple
beguiling eyes,
certainly like that, she is, for me, at least:
to witness that time is square, without
intervening our space,
but just the eloquence of gravity
being side by side pulling us nearer and
nearer.’
— Chuck Akot, from Wounded Swan and
Other Poems, SHE IS DRESSED IN