4.
But um,
the light changed,
her thigh beside you
safe beyond the crevasse of machinery,
her thigh you imagine beside you,
imagine.
Desire
is like a windshield wiper,
comes
and goes,
obliterates
all
that it has seen,
swipes clean.
You have seen
nothing.
No
image left.
5.
So the sea was natural enough
to come to
in its way—
phasellus
a yacht or little sailboat,
by Catullus, young poet frequently marvelous.
Sail away with me she said you thought.
The grammar of analytic languages
perplexes with contingency.
Who said?
Who thought?
We were speaking
we were young,
speaking
something
like Chinese in Coney Island.
Or was it Brighton Beach.
Or
was it raining.
