I dreamed forgot you
but to dream you was remembering.
I have words for you
only, a linguistic fidelity.
Cherish and anguish and fool.
I look for you, I am finding
out if I am brave. Last
I saw you, it was the same disruptive
season: robins trilling in the young
flush, trees shivering
pink all down the street.
I thought the ache
would ruin me,
and maybe it did.
Here I am in the beatific after
still calling back to you: