A Long Poem for Something Brief
Garamond size 12 was what you preferred.
It has replaced my usual Calisto MT.
What I used to love looks too naive, too
Innocent for my wide-eyed seriousness
Your Doc Martens — black, shiny, new
All black, like you. Your jacket,
Your scarf, your sweater,
your t-shirt, your dark-washed jeans,
your black boxer briefs — your
Socks brightly patterned in protest,
But long gone underneath the pile on the floor.
Like your yellow house on that unlovely street,
Where I stood once more without
Than you ever were.
We both had our other loves,
You, for your images,
And I, my words
They are all I have left
We took no photographs:
I can no longer see your features right,
Only words, words, words
Left from one long and unlovely night.
(I wonder if you could paint me still.)
(You painted roses so well.)
With such skill,
You edited each text,
With muddied meaning
And perfected syntax,
No more but so.
This is too brief,
For hurt this long.