Here and There
What is it you wish to say
as you lean towards him?
Why did you leave your chair
to perch and tilt on the wall?
the April sun is building its heat,
your friend Latif is kicking a ball,
a morning breeze dishevels the sea.
here there is nothing -
the courtyard empty and still -
only the paper’s occasional rustle.
in just a moment
he will fold it and lay it down, and
he will smile as he turns to you,
stretching his hand into the pool of light
to reach for your opening fingers.