London / New York, September 2013
I would sink into a daydream
while I rest on a bench
too old too soon
too young still
I would write I am famous
I would write I am grand
and while a parade marches by
past central park
I would rest my aching back against the stone wall
the lonely wooden bench
listening to the wind in the trees
I would carve a heart into the wood
with our lovely initials
how they rhyme
on an Autumn day in Manhattan
too many lives gone
the place
where the dreams go
has
fewer dreamers this year
the list too long
words cannot describe what has been lost
I would rest the blade
I would cry
as too young and too soon
you had gone
and left me here
on this bank
near Central Park
By Zorro Rodriguez
