I heard someone reciting a poem in German.
In that exact room, where you sat behind me.
Last year.
And tried not to think of you,
As you are,
Encased in ice.
Imagining that there are thousands of people who speak your languages.
And that you are not the only one,
Inhabiting all these worlds.
Encased in ice.
And losing you in the crowd.
Your back turned, face hidden,
And gone from view.
And gone.
--
To The Prince
So sad this morning.
Sad beyond words.
And tonight,
Alive and squirming to show off your paintings.
Our paintings and sketches.
To my friend from Ireland,
Showing off.
Hair like Rod Stewart
And we ran off to see the Little Red Lighthouse
And our corner homeless guy
Saw me at the river.
Don Quixote.
The Cat.
Purring and meowing.
Loudly.
Just a few weeks ago,
Sitting on my bed, even with the dog,
And the fish
(and David was not dying)
Nibbling on my ear.
I am a Mama,
One of the nipples to suck on.
Forbidden tickle
Now he's drooling and smells of something
Cancer?
Death?
Rotting?
Old cat.
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