The Way Down
rating: +10+x

Would you think of the fevers you had if the hot subway dipped down

under ashen bridge into sea, your body pressed up to the water-stained window

like a child looking for her home out over stacks of green cartons

of vegetables I'd brought from the market to feed you delirious?

and would you hate if the far light went out—if the bulbs split in crosses

and revealed green flashing jewels hidden, you couldn't pluck as long

as I were there? Or that I would never write in your diary with spilt tobacco

in the patterns of dreaming, or tea-sight, and how it would taste

you would never fear if I spent my best years on you for the tame joy

of becoming better than. You would never fear the conditional if and

but for highways, never be somewhere you could taste a trade wind.

Not suffer another poem or cover song about people hard to love

dead or here or off in bedrooms with armies and money and gray faces.

I thought it could happen, I thought I could aver, I thought we maybe

would hold each other's hair in braids in bed and trade awful smiles

But so fast now the passing is already here. We couldn't follow your pace

and you have gone undersea in the A train over the Rockaways.

I last spoke to you in February about a song we green two could sing.

I loved you the way a falling mahogany would love May.

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