“a burden lifted from my soul…
I heard that love was out of my control.”
Leonard Cohen
You were insouciant,
which is close to saucy,
which made me
crazy with the heat.
I was young, you were
younger, and bright
like a blister.
Your hair was sunlight,
your face a flower,
dimpled and photic.
You dipped your hand
in every stream
I walked by. I thought
I was Yeats. You
were just gone, that easily,
like smoke, like
those days of youth
when you feel like you
have the energy of
slaves. It all went by so
fast, we say now.
Only because we cannot
remember how our
limbs fit, or if they did,
or who was our first,
best or most enthusiastic
lover. Pity us.
We’re near the end,
near the very last idea
about the past.