May 012010

Keith Baumgardner


Standing by your window honey yes, I’ve been here before.

Watching your broken silhouette dance

through the curtains, illuminated by that cinnamon candle

I bought for you last spring.


Knowing I’m watching, you accentuate every move

with a subtle shake of your hips or a roll of your shoulders.

[a dangerous seduction for a woman with nothing left to give]


The music in your head slightly off-beat

from the rhythm in the walls.

I tap on the window and stomp my foot,

challenging you to one last waltz.


A screaming star grabs my eyes

for a moment away from your face.

When I look back, you’re asleep, two-stepped

straight into another lucid world.


I watch as the candle burns down slowly

to a puddle of brown mud and a charred wick.

By the light of the moon, I can barely make out

the outline of your nose, turned up to the cold, good night.