got up before dawn

went down to the racetrack.

riding with the windows down

shortly after your first heart attack.

you parked behind the paddock,

cracking asphalt underfoot,

coming up through the cracks



pale green things

pale green things



we watched the horses run their workouts.

you held your stopwatch in your left hand

and a racing form beneath your arm,

casting your gaze way out to no man's land.

sometimes I'll meet you out there

lonely and frightened.

flicking my tongue out at the wet leaves



pale green things

pale green things



my sister called at three a.m.

just last december.

she told me how you'd died at last, at last

and that morning at the race track was one thing I remembered.

I turned it over in my mind

like a living chinese finger trap.

seaweed and indiana sawgrass



pale green things

pale green things