One remembers it
— It: which with a flimsy restoration of
The receiver we ended on a click;
After years — worlds and destinations apart —
After many and many to whom we had given our heart
And after resolutions to stay away and to deal with the distance
Of cold, decorated smiles for old times’ sake —
One remembers it, after all,
For the fragility with which it was made.
From previous night through all morning;
The tension of waiting — anxious — under
A never forgiving sun; being pulled
And continually sucked by that
Whirlpool of impatience, insistence,
Doubt and the fear of missing you
Among the people that pass —
I most certainly pity those insensitive that dismiss young love as a farce.
And when that was all over —
There was more life and then much more:
Life, hope, revival every time a hardcover
Commitment broke; and every time you had no more
To offer the periodical agent who envelops you with words
Every time over and over through other mouths you had heard.
But this — you remember as
An unreal-real memory
That curls in some hidden locker in its
Magical coat of dust. And here
I suspend the burden of poetry.
Talk tonight we must.