Today I saw a bonsai tree for sale in the window of a liquor store
& today I found a tiny clump of concrete that looked
like a pair of lungs
& today I threw darts at a board, barefoot
& today I poured cajeta on toast &
& today I saw a dozen wasps swarm through a
mass of evening light
& today a streetlamp burned itself cold.
I almost told you about it.
Once, you said that intimacy was an impossibility
for us, but at my apartment you left
a watercolor of an ovenbird in a pepper tree
& a handful of white hammer oysters
& a string of Tibetan prayer flags
& a Louis Wain print of cats playing hockey.
I remember you
& you, paying for film slides at luster photo on avenue a
& you, drinking pesole on the kitchen floor & coughing
& you, throwing up in a dogwood bush
& you, hanging an opaque sheet from the ceiling,
standing on a wooden chair
& your skin soft like lime oil
& your skin.