last night there was a woman

who sat ontop a bottomless table

asking me questions about her genius daughter

we remained over struggling cups of answers, as

she needed badly to recount her graduate life,

now,

inside,

while the place gradually burned down

all around us

and i had never seen her daughter

although many times i had caught sight of her

through this clear windowpane

while she sat still

begging the night sky

doubtful questions

one time i think we touched lips

and very tenderly melted away under that flag

we knew would be dying soon,

so full of holes

why should we sing of it

last night there was a woman

who i left crying

“goodbye” to her genius daughter

surrounded by ashes

of unrequited questions

11/78/69

Cambridge, Mass