It is a Miles Davis blues <br />they must have heard before. <br /> <br />She says, <br /> <br />It reminds me of October rain <br />on a New York roof past midnight. <br /> <br />A tumpet player in the Paris Metro <br />with a hole in his knee and eyes of fever. <br /> <br />A winter in the south - any south <br />among perched villages and wailing winds. <br /> <br />Anybody's childhood in an East European city <br />of shadows and fog. <br /> <br />A galaxy of dim bars along the street <br />in Berlin of the thirties. <br /> <br />The silver rustle of a single noun <br />yet to be coined, to mean complete sadness. <br /> <br />Railway stations in pre-war Italy <br />with snow-peaks in the crisp distance. <br /> <br />Lovers in worn-out coats <br />standing in the rain... <br /> <br />That's nice, he says, <br />except you've never left this town. <br /> <br />She says, my love, it reminds me of the day <br />when you and I will part.<br /><br />Kapka Kassabova<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-never-entered-my-mind/
