ALICJA ZAPALSKA

Listening To Czeslaw Niemen, 10:38 P.M.

I learned the coast of the parking garage
as we swung between floors,

through so much of a night
it was like holding a river.

From the rooftop
we were all aglow, our silence separate

and lonely. I held the steering wheel.
The radio crooned about moonlight

hitting the windowpane as we all peered
past the railings - we knew

there was no future in that.
I thought of guilt.

How it was no easier
in the dark, as if the songs we knew

together were spotlights peering
from our own mouths. It was that hard.

And it was still summer
when we reached the bottom.