There’s a train
Which runs before dusk
But arrives back home
During daylight
Just to catch what sun
Still remembers
Every hour of life
Never changed

As enjoyment fades
When we age
After chasing skies
Turning orange
Over evenings now
Spent commuting
Down another lost track
Always close

With our paling faith
Become clouds
Hanging answered prayers
Like decisions
From ignoring time
Merely reaching
Holding hopeful hands
Only once

Where God had graced
Better dreams
Since believing love
Was her station
Waiting cold and long
For his winter
While forgetting again
Summer passed

Across golden roofs
Seeking chance
Beneath burning rays
Gently turning
In spectrums warm
Along avenues
Behind chain link fence
Hiding stairs

Each empty stop
Must observe
If meeting again
At Bay Terrace
Letting closing doors
Leave us hanging
Seeking miracles
Locally found.

• J. Pigno

There is no claim
Beyond words
Which carry my heart
Through this basement
Letting bookstacks lay
Almost dormant
With each verse inside
Still unsaid

To stake what faith
Catches dust
After years down here
Grown complacent
By the light of screens
Glowing static
And their analog hiss
Dearly missed

Like old whispers
Of permanent grace
Through rewinding scenes
Barely perfect
As yesterday’s sound
Always stutters
What my broken ears
Only catch

When that fading light
Tosses back
Such monochrome scenes
Nearly gorgeous
Along musty shelves
Hiding artifacts
Between figures sat
Over tapes

For reminding hope
Mustn’t tell
Yet express in pain
Trading glimpses
Of those schoolyard ways
Almost innocent
Though oddly harsh
Staring back

Pressing play once more
Seeking proof
How these films long gone
Aren’t trophies
But nostalgic junk
Under boxes
Keeping poetry here
Where it starts.

• J. Pigno

I believe you cried
Gazing up
On the bench outside
Catching teardrops
Where gray clouds stormed
High above us
As if just to claim
They would stay,

When hope itself
Trickled down
Tall cathedral frames
Built from memory
While scanning bricks
Like foundations
Soon swept in floods
Over steps,

Since we once saw life
Taking shape
During hurricane calls
Losing power
Alone with rings
Nearly silver
But gold from pain
Feeling true –

How reality’s gale
Washes wounds
Whose hands extend
What’s reminded
When gathering hearts
Off of floorboards
Some creaky old church
Never hides,

Even though this dream
Always ends
Under stained glass halls
Barely realized
Seeing sleet and mist
Fogging mirrors
Which obscure my sleep
Morning greets

With her warmth now real
Nestled close
Forgetting again
There are reasons
Two people must share
One umbrella
For vows worth rain
Every night.

• J. Pigno

It’s hard to believe
In hearths back home
When you are
That outside
Winter –

Those golden fears
Of late autumn days
Become
What December
Will bring,

Like presents bare
Under ribbons laced
Around
Each past
Knowing trinkets

Were toys alone
In houses cold
Whose lights
Never shined
Just because.

I learned too late
Every box was us
Adorned
But torn
Opened quickly

On Christmas Eve
Rushing empty cheer
Before wood
Which burned
Easy sparks,

Their convenient glow
My childhood wish
Soon replaced
By years
Growing colder

After seasons changed
And silence claimed
Our tree
Downstairs
With no ornaments.

She kept it bare
While cinders flame
Though cellars
Have drafts
During winter,

Allowing me space
For entering still
Remembering
How love
Must have felt.

• J. Pigno

All heroes
Fade into dusk
Like a dream once young
Blaring headphones
Sharing backseats
Swearing each lyric
Was the secret
Of summers long passed

Mourning that world
Deep inside
Fully taking shape
During car rides
When signs would drift
By our window
Along local roads
Become songs

Though valleys dipped
Like they swooned
As tomorrow loomed
Seeming closer
Where country knolls
Remained highest
Besides empty tracks
Calling trains

Across cornfields
Shimmering gold
Under August rays
Soon reminded
How most trips end
Before swearing
Their meaning
Was youth while it lasts

Never noticing now
Dimming moons
Still echoing truths
After daylight
Whose radiant glow
Offers faces
Only hindsight sees
Getting old

Which speak their truth
Revealed whole
Knowing night will hold
Better memories
Like childhood stars
Sell vacations
For growing up fast
Cause we must.

• J. Pigno

I have always felt
Feminine coded
In the ways my heart
Seeking rapture
Pursues empathy
Bound by creation
That’s misunderstood
Being male

With radical love
Over bankrolls
Outside what bounds
Bear restrictions
Through paling dreams
Needing neon
Or pink splatter dye
Where they dull

From stifling words
Playing roles
Writing empty books
Praying poets
Would form each phrase
Around softness
Still nurturing truth
Better said

Than obscuring life
Growing split
While pretending
Sex barely matters
Though all birth itself
Mirrors liturgies
Of an artist’s brush
Drawing fruit

After faithless dreams
Are the norm
How compliant souls
Crave expression
Against work-filled days
Missing mothers
Like their fathers learned
Losing voice

But reminded now
There is warmth
Brushing hands
Against heaven’s glitter
Meaning angels
Dressing as muses
Reveal secrets
To those who agree.

• J. Pigno

What few little things
We miss
Like this bush
Holding bulbs
Which shimmer

Are memories pinned
Along garlands
Whose length
Is a lifetime
Apart,

Where heirlooms
Wrap around doors
As their radiance
Clings
Over railings

For stretches of blocks
Here in Dyker
Just reminding
How bright
It all seemed –

Across avenues
Littered with stars
Passing bakeries
Old
Locking shutters,

Or diners alone
During Christmas
And wedding halls
Still
For one night.

Our window’s view
Hasn’t changed
Since those years
We dreamed
Altogether,

Eating pizza fresh
After hours
While following
Cars
Down each block,

Towards displays
Letting color escape
Thinking age
Might bring
Better angles

From future drives
Fearing dimness
Loses details
Youth
Only keeps.

• J. Pigno

I could see inside
Where we sat
From the headlights
Over expressways
Whose vacant rooms
Keeping shadows
Held vague figures
Seeming like us,

With familiar forms
Taking shape
Near concessions
And counters run empty
Once selling our joy
Always colorful
Sharing snacks
How memories taste

Which still believe
Some are screens
On abandoned lots
Nearing midnight
When winter’s dark
Beckons echoes
Only few can hear
Driving past –

That certain bliss
Skipping school
Or summer’s breath
Crowding doorways
While escaping lines
More oppressive
Than bad heat
Those days did forget,

Being young
But jaded enough
To appreciate scenes
By their ending
Since cinema meant
Little moments
Can fulfill my dreams
Even small

For afternoons there
Yet again
Despite such faith
Feeling dormant
As time has shown
Off of Travis
Hoping ghosts
Claim proof it endures.

• J. Pigno

Is there solace
Yet to be claimed
From surviving wars
Between shadows,

Like a phantom door
Among memories
Found in hallways
Only at night –

Each skipping beat
My true key
For this corner room
Never noticed

During morning’s veil
Hiding symptoms
Through distractions
Daylight permits?

Another routine
Passing locks
Making handles beg
Our attentions,

Unlatching bolts
Toward old spaces
Missing windows
Shunning new sights –

Where sun so bold
Stifles air
And hope grows stale
Behind curtains

Fearing dimness
Proves everlasting
Haunting men who miss
Lonely thoughts.

These aching words
Do agree
Such painful dreams
Should inspire

What phrase remains
Knowing poets
Write their best
When ghosts will attack –

While shapes enfold
Every breach
Life’s battered walls
Leave neglected,

Often cracks themselves
Being monsters
Storming studies
Mansions forget.

• J. Pigno

Our past
Is the devil who knows
What happiness
Kills us with hindsight

But demands we believe
Each tomorrow
Finds its memory pursued
Like a wish,

Which misses that call
Staring back
When dreaming alone
Cannot fathom
How heaven remains
Less elusive
Than days long sought
As they were

Under details
Buried from pain

Letting faith enfold
Such experience

Far beneath these woes
Hardly stories
For another sad sack
Keeping hope –

Being here and now
Yet again,

Proving fate itself
Merely selfish,

Watching God employ
Science fiction
Seeing good things end
All at once.

Even plot threads
Better off wrong
Are appropriate there
Despite ruining
Life’s best extents
Hitting limits
Counting backwards
Sifting through age –

Another lost year
Discontent,

Looking sideways
Spending their purpose
On delivering still
Future letters
Sent home towards hands
Truly loved.

• J. Pigno