A-uh the weather is perfect
right now the March 28th of the year two thousand and seventeen –
————————————–DC Spring, welcome!
———————–Welcome to this house – I have been waiting for you,
—and I love you more than all the snow flakes, that for some reason couldn’t land properly this year or never came!
——-Today is wonderful. It is just right. It reminds me of San Francisco or my hometown Orumiye,
—partly because it is somewhat gray,
———-partly because it is not too hot or too cold,
partly because it’s cloudy and sometimes it rains for a couple of minutes,
———————– and I know the sun behind the clouds is just there to pour down on me
now and then,
————-and partly because I saw the Atlantic ocean recently and missed home – wherever that may be these days. –
I seem to be often far from all homes that I have known, yet be at home all the times.
Oh god,
I love Frank O’Hara’s gentle soul and words
———————————–with his playfulness of an urban child.
———-And I love waking up with words blossoming in my mouth and
filling my bed,
—————with the lightest of the melancholias to brush my skin,
——–to wipe my eyes of night
and to comb my messy hair,
—————————————-and then there is drinking too much coffee
———–and reading too many poems,
——-and writing you these words for no particular reason other than my
love for you
—–your love for all your lovers
and inescapable urge to write,
—to let the woodpecker in my chest free.
I wonder about
what you ate this morning,
——and whether or not you put milk and sugar in your coffee
———————-and if you woke up happy or sad
or if you have missed me at all?
I wonder
—-how far did your eyes look in the open space,
from the train window
on your commute to work?
——————————————- I wonder,
——-what is Tom Waits doing now?
——————————-And where are Leonard Cohen’s ashes,
——-in which wind they are surveying the landscape?
As I drink more coffee and eat as many clouds I can
———–I wonder how are you not seeing what I am seeing,
which for some unknown reason is making me want to cry
———————and to smile at the same-time.
—-My my eyes are wet now,
———-It must be all the cloud I ate…
Peyman
March 28th, 2017
Washington, D.C.
One Poem At A Time 