I’m sitting at the same table again, in the hopes.
This time I’m sitting where you were.
Like a fragrance you had stayed to rise,
having felt just long enough under your hat,
wanting exactly what you want.
Like a fragrance you had strayed.
There are masculine and feminine willows
moving about this room.
Just now tiny machines manufacture noises
devoting themselves to the removal
and the placing. Tiny machines
manufacture noises producing
in me a feeling of productivity.
Just now a shadow
approached from the west door spilling
a glance upon me, sorry, I thought
it was you sitting down in the place
where your hands shook as you poured
evening’s sweet wine out in photographs.
I watched you grow older in the approach.
Summers are loose and feathery
in consequence as a high school, or a time,
or a camp in which Right Now is a time.
You say you think of it in a good way,
in the long approach, i.e. laughter
and lightness and etcetera time
of staying too long and leaving too soon,
sitting across from you, that absolute
conditional you sitting down in the place
where I had been a glance upon me.
Right Now is a time. A child needs
to be moved less fearfully
than thinking of something else.
What flower do you bring a flower?
I’d curl up in the wrist, but there’s a cat
already named there for luck and howling.
What flower do you bring a trouble?
In the course of a sleeping farther away
dawn grew your hair.
I watched you grow younger.
When I look up you will be across from me.
This time I’m sitting where you were.