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Poem at 4.17

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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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