Sunday, February 21, 2016



Robles Wilson

Once in a great while, Death
Crosses my mind一the way
A stranger passes the door
Of my office and an instant
Later takes a backward step
To look in on me. Then he 
Is gone again: I put him
Out of my thoughts; One more
Strange guy, I tell myself.

Other times一though rarely一
It's a woman who stops, rests
The palm of one pale hand
On the doorframe, who tilts
Her head as if trying hard
To place me一Don't we meet
One day at New Sunyrna, drink
Martinis? Didn't the waitress
Claim to know both our names?

In the end who can manage
To keep the entrances locked?
Everyone uses this corridor
As shortcut:parking lot to
Patio bar. I'm nothing like
Emily Dickinson. Her door
Was kept tight shut; she so
Valued privacy: Death outside,
Emily waiting for the knock.

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