A while back, in a photograph, I saw your face last December.
Looking back at you it is easy to know
that you would revisit those places
where nobody ever returns. To chairs where we waited
for something we've since forgotten to wait for.
To the town in the background,
with its forgotten name. To the grass that sucks light.
To the black, dank earth.
To reinscribe the initials of something or someone.
The slide: we slide forever.
We live here, a young woman, two dogs, and me.
The house is like a tower and out front the lavish
eucalyptus bird-sanctuary hangs higher
than our top floor (where we can see the soccer fields).
In front of the tower-house is a white rock-creek.
The rainy season looms. It’s crests (the river). The monster
never travels this far, and you who would have wanted to save me
have gone with your blue, blue eyes.