Castro’s

Am I as gone as October
at this table, two
from the one we talked
at for hours of plans
for summer and rivers,
where I marveled at
the new mystery just
inches of white linen
away?


You are still present,
dressed warmer than
necessary, tame enough
to be understood, to
say that you too are
curious about how
we might go places.
The waiter looms,
inadvertently breaking
the news that you’re
really back home, perhaps
in a relieved apron state
that may fit you just fine,
for all I ever knew.
(2000-02)


unnamed Poem published only in the first edition of Coincidence of Memory (on page 41)

You've changed cameras,
and I cannot be heard.
Is it me, or are you
just taking pictures?
Maybe a plane passing
saw what we are doing.
Maybe a passenger will
know that we are pretending
to be ourselves down here
in this skeleton of a house.
(2002)