But, oh, how you filter,

through light and dim, through

pollen and sunset-dust;

I push back these balding things---

how I mold your clay-flesh into future forms:

how I imagine the Saxon earths, the accented cities

apartments with gauze drapes, you and I

sitting face to face on some

godforsaken park bench

dissecting the universe and the sidewalk

(which glows beneath your shoes)

with the neo-archaic wisdom of

wunderkind tongues.

How I've made you a man, how we

meet again; I, no different than before,

you, with years etched into you eyes.

How we left the weights from each others' shoulders and become

blithe feathers; how we

both grow great and pennate, and do our tumble-waltz on water

(for fear of damaging our wings in the grass).

How I lose myself to you

and, finally, when I have nothing to weep for,

burst into tears.