Poem at 4.17 AM
You left me with all the pieces of the engine laid on rags – garage floor
I sat there wearing my nightgown trying to make sense of the puzzle – there are no instructions and I’m not a mechanic
I sat there for a year.
On some nights I imagined them chess pieces, and played against
you, them, myself
On some other nights I wrote on walls with no ink or feather
about snake charmers
and wolves in sheep’s clothing
Narcissus was tired
The Prince’s treasure, under lock, turned out to be a room full of mirrors.
Mornings I thought
For a summer I made sculptures and looked at photos
That night in the warehouse, our distracted dance, our last
You drove away
with an engine-less car.
San Diego, November 2012
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