You needed
to forget.

In Italy,
you found
a little,
in the
milk
steam
& the hues
of the old
masters.

September
rescued
you from
some of
the blue
slants of
your life.

In the
city of
whimsical
rain, you
considered
Russian
spines,
implored the
shining face
of wine,
searched
in the teeth
of canvas
for that
oblivion.

Love,
I know
the hunt.

I read
Anna
Karenina
by a cast
of moon
on a black
beach,
seeking it.

I drank gin
at sunrise.
I stared long
into the
wavering
systems
of Rothko
and Gorky.

But my
thoughts
erupted
into terrible
poems that
grew from
my hands.

Then,
serendipity:
our friend
pushed us
together
screen to
screen.

A transcript
reveals
the slow
grace
between us,
how the
distance
lilted and
tightened.

Now,
beneath the
gossamer
columns
of the sun,
in the
impossible
mouth
of the air,
I'm thinking
of you
& I no longer
want
to forget.