Chair, by Dah

By Dah

Sunlight swells into buildings
rolls over my feet
gets trapped under my soles
and at this moment
there is nothing more to say

When you rose to leave
your skirt
made the sound of a bird
caught in my hands

In the distance your silhouette
dark, then gray, then
birds landing on a statue
make the sound of your skirt leaving

Overhead a low jet noise
I say something
but cannot hear myself
and across the table
your chair
is the emptiness left behind

Dah is the author of three books of poetry from Stillpoint Books. His fourth book, The Translator, will be published by Transcendent Zero Press in the summer of 2015. Dah lives in Berkeley, California, and is working on the manuscripts for his fifth and sixth poetry collections. He blogs at Words Of Dahlusion.

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