Black Whistling
       

It's not listening, it's behaving.
Winter spent acting out
an igloo, a paper plane
doing something pedestrian
with the wind. A man
leaves early in the morning.

You have to dream away people.

The elation of an empty room,
pineapple upside-down,
like watching privacy.
Keep quiet, tortoise.
I'll tell you about yourself:
The star on your shell is mine.

You were a submarine once, you sank so quickly.

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Copyright © 2013 Marni Ludwig All rights reserved
from Pinwheel
New Issues Poetry & Prose
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission