A Summertime poem

The park

During the mornings of August
Brooklyn's parks are filled up
with lonely girls,
that lie down to read in the grass
wearing a bikini.
They're like splattered galaxies around me;
a big-bang that exploits
in silent beauty that nobody touch.
They look up sometimes,
looking for something between the trees:
                              they want to be founded.
They camouflage the impatience
in other's lines,
waiting that the life
name them for a good role. 

Brooklyn. August 2014