grandma poem

friend, whose smile has come to be
i said
when i looked into your eyes
i make my shroud, but no one knows
grieve not for the invisible
as a naked man i go
passing through huddled and ugly walls
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
brief on a flying night
to the passionate lover
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
city that is not a city
the long resounding marble corridors