we used to call you man of twists and turns,
the dynamo — reckless, drowning, sea-rendered
until perennial blue, the one i knew
well enough to know, i loved nobody.
his thirst, prostrated, clutched me from below,
desperate to conceal from winged word
a history of suffering. a babe
buried his need in bosom of my nature,
drunk on the deep milk of disappearance.
his subterfuge despair was mythical,
until he made her fiction. he may not
remember me. but i keep by my heart
a wavy lock of sunset-auburn hair.

//

(original, telescopic)