Watching a boneless nymph’s 
half-hearted resurrection
from a spout in the pavement

Island traffic slows to a halt
as screeching gulls reluctant
to lift heavenward

Memory near oblivion. Far death
the voice grinds and vibrates and trembles
the wind denies

to you
the view
to me

Heads up, false friends use familiarity as camouflage. 
In the source language deciduous might be confused with apathy, 
but nothing could be further away from desidia than the timed impermanence of leaves. 

Morning walking is like a hospital room
The getting up and feeling sorry for sleep
Putting my fat body into a cab and going to the hospital

Lost causes confound. Where are you, cousin, 
since you swung upside down the iron gate
outside school? The earth is your sky—correct 

I don’t really like the ferries that make the water a scary vortex,
or the blurry white sun that blinds me, or the adorable small families 
of distressed ducklings that swim in a panic when a speedboat cuts 

It’s late. History promises you a kiss
When she comes to bed. So you say good night.
You’re tired and can’t keep your eyes open,

Music for when the music is over
Is what a poem is. There’s no music
In a poem, just the imaginary