MIDNIGHT, AUGUST 4TH

             Next to your last night
             in this country,

             though already
             we have become foreigners

             ... three thousand miles distant
             from the slightest touch

                                          or eyelash...

             (and how will it be when you are truly gone?).

             I turn on my bed
             without a pillow

                                          -- naked and lean,
                                          in a city, forgotten...

             you, counting stars along a southern beach
                    ... without a comb, or sandals.