Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Matches by Charles Simić


Very dark when I step
On the street
But then he shows up
The one who plays with matches
In my dreams

I have never seen
his face his eyes

Why do I always
Have to be so slow
And the matches already
Down to his fingertips

If it’s a house
Time only for a glimpse
If a woman—
Just a single kiss
Before the shadows converge

I could be dining
Making a snowball
Having my teeth pulled
By the Pope in Rome
Or running naked
Over a battlefield

The one with matches
Knows and won’t say
He likes only abandoned games
Illegible cities
Great loves that go out
in a puff

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