lacuna a word I learned at your vanishing point as at the knee of another took you at your word the well hidden
in the desert and never told of the desert hidden again and hidden in the well the bad café au lait the baffle
in the throat choked down in the wake of the news as in the wake of a ship pieces curved into their rust curved
into sand as a child into sleep into oily sheets hooked from the water a toy plane pulled from a bathtub you in it you
coming to shore as much as you could late enough years after the vigil ended invisible fish asleep in the jaw of a metal
pelican the serial number of your spine the feuilleton of leaving codes dimensions of absence where x = by x this or that six
foot two x fleshy x mangy (the bathrobe) x slivers of engine oil under the nails x crescent moon x buried things x marks the spot x my troth damn your
eyes x rusted light of dictionnaire in drawer x childhood bed Il faut vivre comme un ours—Flaubert Je ne peux pas vivre comme un ours—you and you
and you ursa minor eternal tuck-in I have outgrown your rose would never—never mind stretch parch
in search of you in search of your search the goal of which it seems is its abandonment you never would
you I tongued and polished like a tooth before it fell out you there in snapshot asking for water (you haven’t had enough of
water?) the point when school lets out forever and the summer has no vanishing point the old vol de nuit night flight night
theft your heavy face gone now cleared off a table of oily cups a plane of the ground that held it
I have drawn this landscape a second time to show you better how you appeared disappeared
