His sigh was dusty
And it fell like dust
On his navy jacket
Or was blown away
(The wind is always blowing dusty sighs
Here, in late September)

His empty left hand rested
Like a spider on the dry bench
Hollow and crooked, his fingers
Spread out by small spaces
(Her hands had been small; gently… perfect,
But so small and slender)

If her hands had lasted like his
They would be like his: yellowed and wrinkled,
But her hands would always be young,
Always slender
Always beautiful
(And cold)


I never should have slept
When her skin was so close – enough
To be brushed by my closing eyelashes.
It ever should have been enough
To merely dream

I never should have left
Without a hat that night when
My goodbye struck her in the mouth
And she bled pure water
From marble eyes


She would never forget me, she said,
I said the same, I said,
There are things one never forgets:
The flat-tire night, and our first shared kiss,
Or the pencil yellow boots she wore in the rains
Sometimes.
Once, at least.
They might have been blue.

I loved her nose, I told her.
It was small. No- it was perfect.
But it was small, small and straight.
Well it was curved, anyway. Gently…
Perfect


…Damn knees. They creak –
Wrinkled, knobby things.
Creak
(Damn)
((Weak))
I need a bench

Here it is, the old one with the placard:
Green Park.
It was your favorite park
(It creaks, like my knees. Damn.)
Or maybe it was her favorite colour.
No, but that was her eyes…
So, blue.
But the park is Green,
I’ve never even been to Blue Park.
You stupid, stupid, there is no Blue Park

(I think I am going to cry)

She would never forget me, she said,
I said the same, I said,
There are things one never forgets;
Is she forgetting now, I wonder?
Where she sleeps,
And her gentle body
Lies (a corpse is always a lie),
Always slender
Always beautiful
(And cold)

I never should have left
Without a hat today,
It is so piercingly cold;
At least I have this old jacket.
Navy was her favorite color anyway.