And thislast second or two of dreamingin which your facereturns to me completely. Noteven needing to be, beingso alive again to me.

Andthis letterI didn't sendhow surprisingto find it now.All this love I must have felt.

And all the embezzledcents and dollarsof the last time I saw you.

I, who am doubt now, with a song.

Its sweet bird's nest is full of pain in a distant place

My memory of your casual smileThis memory, likea child's bit of sweet embroidery smuggledout of an asylum

My eyes closed, hands open, Take it, take it. Then, every day wasted chasing it.