the sun sets its sorry self behind the dining hall
& the clouds above the roof
are pink like gently-used gauze.
i close my eyes and try to remember
how it feels when things are beautiful.

on the widow’s walk
at the tail end of may
we held our breath.
the sky lay
with its soft belly facing up

at night you slept on the left side of the bed
& i stayed on the right side of sane.
i did not write poetry
but i listened to the rhythm of your breath

in the breeze i search for the music
but it is just one long exhale.

it is impossible
to find the beauty behind the dining hall
i am trying to remember the feeling —
to trap it between my thumb and index finger —
i am trying
to explain all this to your face on a screen —

it is impossible.
to keep imagining once you have seen the real thing
to miss you right, remember you good
to pieces is not enough

to death is not enough
on the horizon a slow setting sun
beyond the building beyond view.
i am closing my eyes
& thinking of you.