for M.

I can't believe I'm walking by this Nude
Descending a Staircase again. I'm lost
in this museum without a knowing guide,
unable even to find the Futurist
Manifesto I desperately hoped to locate,
what with all the other delectations
and all those bright and airy annunciations,
pronouncements, without you, seeming so inchoate.

Was that really you I passed today,
poised mid-step on the stairs, shirt parted
after nursing? Skylights let light play
across one glowing breast, as shadows darted
behind the other. You stopped, halted by a sound.
For months I've carried this descent around.

Leonard Kress

If you've any comments on his poems, Leonard Kress would be pleased to hear from you.