Tiny, they dance through me on the green wind; They breathe me in: flame-inflammable and time Out of memories. Damsels in foreign stories long eaten. Yet I feel so drowsy. Martyr-like they whisper trails Of their sugar dust onto my face and make me Itch. I scratch with citronella nails and burst Forward into the night. One imagines they’ll follow, Seeing as how they think I’m their sun.
Do you remember that summer we spent with the Dead? Maybe it was too long ago for you, but you Always woke me for the sunsets. I remember. And there was some song or other that kept break- Ing through the radio… with the raindrops and some Stately clock that I always associated with you.
II
You were always underneath me Writing those idiotic sonnets.
When you broke water-heavy from Me, of course I tried to follow.
The song to which you referred Was “Night and Day”, but you know I can always remember the words To you better than any foolish Song. There’s a torch within me Keeps repeating “You. You. You.”