In the dusk partial and complete, you drop in
behind the dripping melon-colored marquee.
The fault title font fronts a fruit-cup decay
with your name all over it.
Drunk in that love cup,
blood-berry strong in that heart’s garden,
saffron kisses in heavenly 1930s night skies, as dusk
may give you away
to eternity,
to the sky,
to the garden.
Drunk in that love cup,
you imagined the sunset and fled to it,
chin up, eyes straight.
I craved that fruit today,
my birthday,
2 days before you passed away
up into the sky.
In: Free Stallion, Simon & Schuster, 2005.