Walking down 12th
past old Providence Hospital
where years ago
my second wife

recovered from a seizure
she had while drinking beer
with the Peace Corp neighbors
on the fourth floor

past the Catholic group home
where Shannon lived
in a room that tasted
like old books, before

she showed me how
the energy was working
in the empty moments
that arched between us

past the bridge on Taylor
now covered in anemochory
at the foot of the
high rabbit hill

where Hilary pulled off
a grand seduction like
something from an opera
even the couch was guilty

past the old gym
near the law school
I biked there
at six in the morning

to throw water on sauna rocks,
eating the steam;
I swam away,
never to be seen again.