Der Himmel über Berlin
 
 
we believed we had awareness of the other
that was true in many beds across the few years
pop radio music floating down the alley
brought elusive poignancy to my solitude
 
housecats pissed in the potted plants
the bulbs sprang forth untainted
I took the single flowers outside
believing insects would opt for pollination
 
and behold the red lily formed a seed pod
packed with tiny black spices, I cannot recall
if they were planted, or if they were viable
or what happened to the haunted greenhouse
 
what happened to the housecats, or the pastel
colored sheet that served as a curtain above
the tank-like futon frame, nights when the city
rested its dust, cars, sirens, and rare gunshots
 
we intuitively believed we understood the
meaning of existence, what healthy individuals
unscored by war, famine, or despotic regimes
feel when they wake up to jobs they love
 
streets they call home, utility bills timely paid
pets, random jaunts into the partly unknown desert
and topographic maps notwithstanding, I cannot recall
what lined the crackled asphalt highways
 
what the night sky over South Mountain looked like
lit by heat lightning and microwave relay towers
the Salt River channel dry as any newly scraped
landscape readied for a tough as iron subdivision
 
We drove across the city to Scottsdale
the only theater showing foreign art films
my friend in L.A. said you must see this
it’s in black and white, color, subtitled
 
I admit to being moved, changed, inspired to be
a better artist, person, lover, or friend
the movie house smelt of rancid popcorn butter
outside the scent of orange blossoms cloyed
 
moths swarmed parking lot incandescent lights
we leaned against the side of the pickup truck
we intuitively believed we understood
we believed we had awareness of the other
 
[RK, 8/12/22]