Text
after John Yau
The penultimate stillness
of morning; disruption
in the water; I’m wanting
to hold your hand as you die–
not that you’re dying
or even want to hold my hand
while you’re alive; the severity
of black coffee; the urge
to coop my words up
like chickens; when I wave goodbye
it is not to the people, but
to the ferry; I was incapable
of cheering you up, but you
called me perceptive & perhaps
that was enough; your company
has made me want to craft images
again; despite my aversion to God,
I feel your presence everywhere;
the overbearing redness
of the sun; the sea ablaze
with day’s first light; realizing
I’ve been writing
the same poem my entire life
my entire life avoiding
grand gestures
in favor
of writing
the same poem.