Bella

Circle the path in the thicket again
Carry the colours of your scarf from car to car
Stop for a while by the fountains, far from the shore
And swim out toward the naked island

You have ground beneath your feet, but it lies deep
and you still have plenty of time — as much as you have
Land your caterpillar among the withered grasses
kindle the fire with a trouser-leg and a braid, and warm yourself

with your breath, which smells of moss again.

It is bright beside the road — only there is no road
And it is an ordinary summer. Down to the shore and in us.
The man who had you no longer remembers you
I, who remember you, never desired you,
my friend.

Rest, and do not think I’ll let the epitaph
slip away from me, the way your hands slip away.
This afternoon I could not find your grave,
but when I come again, I will look for you again

and tell you something light, something that asks for nothing.