broad shouldered men,
I see them in the newspaper
with their perfectly styled hair
You're at peace again.
You smell her musk
on your skin again.
You walk up from the river
you float down my eyes―
do what you like, white strap-lines
Roamed around drunken on Crete
maybe too long. In my chaos I met
an obsessed man from Belgium
who studied Zen a man about fifty
Never just some walk to the pools or to where
the petals burst. You know how I wrote
to you once: protect the body within the body
of little blood-contained blossoms
I start out
to write about
the boat on my
medallion from Crete.
To lose you, it is nothing to lose you,
to stand only in the rain of you,
the rain that falls only from you,
from the bottom of your hair.
Somebody asked me
but I'm not going
to argue about
I thought I would keep going without you,
stay in these few rooms, stare at the chairs I hate
without you. I thought I would go on like that,
alone with my days, bitter, smoking into the steering wheel