Sean M. Rumschik


I walked her through                                        streaks of
neon                                                                         the river’s

alleyways to                                                         cafes sake bars
immigrant                                                             pounded

streets dark                                                           houses bent
brick                                                                        purple sky

rippling                                                                  our reflection
the river                                                                 flipped

a tree or                                                                 shadow of a tree
pieces                                                                     of light

hanging                                                                  like incense the city
lamps linked                                                        a halo

arced                                                                       past the long
silence of the                                                        locked cathedral

court                                                                       she was
a tessellation                                                       through stained glass

quickly                                                                   she looked
left and right                                                        like a cardinal

and from some direction                                the street continued
I breathed                                                             by the click of her shoes