Strings violin-taut at the knees and elbows,
his heavy head drawn back, the dreaming child
sleepwalks down the ancient basement stairs,

They wanted rehab-at least a month from her,
not just the writhing days it took for detox.

& anyway by this time it was all a kind of joke:

When it hit me. Fumbling for a smoke,
I sank down heavily onto a concrete bench

beside the circle drive. There was no view

The sky is full of bleating lambs
which bob above us. The rains flood
our apartment. Here no word exists

Strange that he mentions the muses.
Demons, yes. God, of course.
But harlots? Perhaps

As by wine unimpaired, the intoxication
ran high. Demeanor and curiosity—
not prying—was the clearest.

At first, we spoke in many languages.
Mainly jabbed and pointed amidst
The din of pounding and sawing. But

Suppose I say the hardest thing to say.
In a famous drawing two black silhouettes
gaze at each other, noses almost touching.

My heart wears a pair
Of shoes that once belonged
To a young poet

Paul the Leader
at Corinth said,
"Phoebe, please go to Ephesus .