Summer 2023: 42, Waiting in Palermo, Ruslan Garrey

We were waiting, weren’t we?
Like the moss that falls from our carport
Onto the doorsteps and turns into slugs

There at the Palermo train station, we smoked our last cigarette
And watched the slow stars turn
Looked to each other
And walked on glassy stone to the exit
Into velvet night, soft as the wet city

What were we waiting for?
A taxi, that’s right, and we fit into it like fish
Swimming into the back seat
Flush with the speckles of moon and neon
Waves of lightning bugs at our backs