Poem

S.

I dreamt you alive, and today
to name these (silences?) inside myself -
dangerous.  Better to glide, silent
though my last days in the floundering capital,
past the loud parties of the insulated,
and not to wonder.  Is it wonder, 
this complex knot of my heart? Is that
what's left, absent name, shape,
this place you never came to,
now empty as anywhere else? 
Yeah, it's just like you said, back when
I kissed your neck by the ocean, "you're nice,
but somebody's got a date with a coffin."