records of overdraft, furniture found on
the street. You brought unsophisticated
drawings you made in charcoal and that
wasn't enough. You brought pages of
your musings, recordings of your voice.
You realized your mistake and brought
bundles of sheets washed and folded tight,
platters of roast chicken, hand creams,
sweets. You sang and your voice gave out.
You started a fight. You caught my eye
while you were looking mournful. Late
at night, after walking together, you gave me
a single photo of you in the future, very old.
You dreamt you were a fish and told me
about it and I could see it all so clearly.
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