DECEMBER POEM
After Frank O’Hara
There is a girl drawing in Brooklyn
and I drink a cocktail in San Francisco
thinking of her and her images,
words and poems come to me
illustrations fill her mind in quiet times
her cat quietly watching,
and Christmas lights go up
and tourists scramble
with gifts
in their urban rush,
and I think of a girl in Brooklyn
drawing something untitled
while the night gives up silent words.
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