I meant to see you one more time 

in that white dress splashed with brine 

from the northern coast 

where we learned our lessons the first time. 



A line assigned to paper, 

maybe lines under the eyes. 

We meant to write each other, 

but it never quite worked out right. 



Your eyes were light when there was no light. 



The cans are scuttling; 

the end of summer brings an allergy to common things. 

And you could be on an eastbound train in half a day 

but I wouldn't meet you 

except on paper and maybe film. 



This is not sentiment. 

I will not settle this. 

This is not pining, Esther, this is crime! 

There are clouds coming in with the tide 

and I don't blame you but I can't see why 

you'd leave me here in this beautiful place, 

waiting for beauty