In a high rise hotel in Surabaya,
a quiet week, waiting like so much of life,
my wife makes miniatures of snacks in clay for jewelry ideas
and I download Nordic Noir.
A trip to the gym to stay the decline,
then I dream, more vividly than I live,
and solve problems there I couldn’t understand awake,
and feel stupid against it all.
Can a thunder clap blow you out of the sky, fair-weather friend?
On our daughter’s phone, I see the portrait
of four handsome young men in the virility of youth
whose bloated bodies, one by one, are now delivered up,
home for the holidays.
Surabaya, Indonesia Jan. 2015