Elsa Court | Kerouac’s Road: A Place of Stasis....................................................

That was the colour of red in the skirt–

Burnt, like the golden cobs we roasted The smell of the barn in autumn

You, and your spinning of me

And the spinning of the night two bottles tuică in I said I know you from the tram

The boy with the book, the round glasses

Your face by candlelight is like something from another time, stitched together with history

The record on, Enescu hovers around a needle Late at night in your flat on the scarlet chairs

In the heavy curtains. We dance

Outside the furnace, Nebuchadnezzar watches

As we do not burn. But who is the extra person In here with us? What do others see

Through the window across the garden? Night, I suspect, and her ivy, her long hair

On the other side of the door, someone is listening

We listen back, like call and response

Like prayer. But there is nothing beyond this pane

And all of us watching from inside this same fire.