And now I close in prayer
for you
only for you.

this is the night you say you did not know.

I close in prayer
for all the nights you say you did not know.

they walked beside you –
did you not see?

they were there in bed with yours
and when we cried together
I told you what I called everything
and you returned with everything
and our hands looked the same.

I loved your room –
it became mine too.

I lay my prayer on the memory
of our shoes together at its door
on the coffee cups you carried to
the desk where the contents
of two wallets mingled in a heap
of tangled writing that was

you did not know this night?
it was there –
my benediction every hour

I thought I heard yours
when I laid cold rags on your
fever –
you cursed me then but loved me
later –

my prayer is for your bookstore receipts,
your narrow closet and
famous window
where I could smoke and see the city naked
still wrapped in your bed sheets.

you hung pictures of me then,
printed on expensive paper.

It is too hard to pray for anything bigger
than the room where music
was the perfect eloquence of your name

my memory must linger on your speakers
lest I wander into flesh.

were I to move away
from the furniture of my mind –

if I accidentally recall your face
if I happen to lead on
and touch upon
the crush that comes
when I remember exactly how
your skin seemed to replace mine
as though I never needed to be apart
from the whole truth of your form

god forbid I ever stumble on
the language that we spoke

two broke foreigners keeping warm inside a rented time
who only so far from home could fit in the same nation

there is no ceremony or supplication
I know
to untie the golden strand from the knots we have grown.

I must close in prayer
for our mortality –
let it rest in the perfection of its time.

we were so uncannily happy;
and even then, did you believe me?

I heap my blessings on every hour
spent inside your door.
where we was yet untainted
where we still weaved our words together
where we had waking dreams in the light cast on the other.
You knew my prayer then, I remember.

Before the breaking of an ochre sun laid
its charms on our discarded clothes;

When the wisps of sea clouds tottered the flat roofs
and I watched your heart rise
and fall
and flush every angle of your perfect face –

When I finished your cigarette in
the middle
of an exquisite pause
and loved everything we touched
and sanctified it

I closed in prayer for us
that we might self-immortalize

I closed in prayer for us,
just for us,

that the shores of home would find us
living anything
but this.