After Tryst

Wherever you areyou are readingyour palms off of mirrors.The séance of your loverwherever I amknows the fortuneof your ambulance handsflashing red before me.This is not abouthow you moan with a manyou just met.It’s about how you p laythe porch harmonicain a wicker rocking chairwith all the houselightsturned on.Who are you waiting for?What cannibal ghosteats through your skinas if you were insome Buddhist hell?I think you are lonely,but you like the wayloneliness looksin the mirror —like the movie we sawin the era of our together.Wherever you are,I won’t forget the scenewhere everyone livesafter they’re happy.