Eternity is enough without the photographs.
The same thoughts are knots on a blueprint
For a darkening of starts and stops. Smoke
In my memory, your hair waving through

This scene, I can only tell you that a formula
Of lines, of human vibrations through this
Big house, is all curve and coordination. The
Fragile balance of us, the wind that betrays,

The possession of this odyssey recoils through
Our kitchen. The blue route toward sunrise,
The excavation that solves the summer, unwinds
Like the gone world, and severs all our angles.

Absence of weeping in the occupied rhyme.
Presence of the embrace of our haloed stones.

The whole city’s vocabulary draped over
An incendiary dream—all of these years
In exile! Hi, hi, I remember. The splinter
In my blood went out, and I imagined a

Door again, first time clearly since I last
Held the dustpan. Ligature of occasion,
The craziness within going out, going out,
Logic defies what we scavenge in the stars.

The blue blue warmth of you, the green
Threshold of the deft hands on wires, I
Have lost you so many times, is what I said
At first. My ashes will be placed there, and

Now the living begins again. Poem after
Poem, I walked like a beggar in the night.

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