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La Notte

By Wayne Wolfson
June 13, 2006
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You left. I am going back.

Sundown, the darkness will allow us to think of what we have done. The dimmed windows of stores. Heaven offered up through the motionless shadows of luxury.

The dimmed windows, the dead smile of an enemy. My sweetheart's stare. Luxury ill afforded.

I am glad to be alone, to sink further in. A lethargy brought on by drink and a heavy meal. It is insulation, but it will not last. All any of us can hope for is temporary distraction.

Ache, nothing new. It is not quiet there yet anyways, so I can't complain.

Everyone I have known, their faces merge together, this melange forming the features for a new crowd, tonight's crowd. Old friends and enemies watching us say good-bye with bored curiosity. The effect is disconcerting.

Kiss me. You know how it is, always.

Snatches of a song, Pennies From Heaven. Did she know me?

In relaxed concentration the saxophonist leans forward, hat hanging off of one of the chair's posts.

A bird runs the street, silently racing a disregarded valentine.

Every time it rains at night I think of my sweetheart's eyes. (horn solo)

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