Now I look at the photographs you gave me of yourself,
As if I could've forgotten your face.
You know, it took 8 tries in the electric chair
Before Ethel Rosenberg finally died
For being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
How many more do I have until I'm finished?
Yesterday you walked along the river for miles
Knowing I was blue and weeping
Over you.
And you were drunk. Forever drunk.
Forever missing. Forever late. Forever afraid.
Your name is For Ever. Endless. Immortal.
In one photograph you are laughing.
It's New Year's Eve long ago,
A bottle in your hand, held close like a savior.
In another picture you are standing
In a doorway in the snow, black and white
As nothing in your life is.
18 lovers from my past carry my body
A right at the cypress grove.
There is no ceremony or flowers.
Not even a prayer.
A blanket of snow lies under me
When they let me down.
One of them places a sprig of juniper
Behind my ear.
I am done.
In your absence
all the leaves have turned blue,
the hillside of poppies bids sleep
without dreams.
Supernatural everything.
In the dark
all those words disappear
and there is only the impression
of the moon and stars
and how we were delivered
to this moment
by them.
Open, I have laid in your arms
unable to hide
from your cabaret motion,
from your mares of devotion.
For your lips were cold
and I gave them light.
For your heart was still
and I gave it rhythm.
For your tongue was dry
and I brought you holy water.
For your faith was shallow
and I nurtured the deep inside you.
How I could not contain
your wild horses
and revelry.
