New Girl

by Gary Percesepe

Was I in Harlem last night at a speakeasy

listening to an alto sax tuned like

a train whistle?


Was there someone beside

me, lovely and warm

with a knitted cap


and vintage dress?

Did we walk out together

into the cold night


forgetting something?

This morning new

snow falls, slant &


furious, and I want to

walk out into it. Do our

days & nights erase


each other to make

 room for the next

incomprehensible thing?