41. mumbai

(for you, Mumbai)

Next out the gate, quietly
she slips, leaving,

letting Morning into herself,
baying to reach it in time to see
the satin way of dreaming
that she lived; but so carelessly

it was almost stately.
Like her, I was always leaving.

Were we not so tangled, I suspect
we could have been friends–
those who laugh and whisper
and run into streets after drivers,

but I wanted a place to stay.

a student tells me
that questions are not poems

and are poems not questions?

I tell a student
but a place wants me to stay
and drive after running streets
that whisper and laugh.

Could we have been friends?
Were we so tangled? I suspect not;

I always liked her for leaving.
It was stately, almost:
so carelessly she lived,
in that satin way of dreaming.

We reach the bay in time to see
Morning letting herself in,
leaving her slippers
quietly next to the gate.

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