By the tower in April, masked, and the orange city - This afternoon, in the Charles, pink petals flowed into the bay. I start to take out my phone but put it away. (It’s nothing new to watch the blooming of cherries When it was I was 21, with V, and free ice cream And it’s nothing new to freak out about where I’m going But not when we’d just met and you were smoking cigs on Newbury Offhandedly said last time I was here I was tripping couple days after my dad’s mom’s funeral, forty days after someone I knew once lost consciousness We talk French theory and how I toured but never finished Torso really I was on the dock, on the phone, trying to learn where she was and what she’d taken You corrected my wine order and were surprised I wanted to kiss you her mom knew the hotel and they found her in time. There’s still enough time to do) something - feeling foolish trying to do everything looking at the undergrads - God, are we old folks? You’re drinking wine and reading Kinfolk I’m drinking coffee and I’m writing for cellos, ironing my shirt before we meet for espresso - you stopped to point out the marble floors. Clocking in at the Harvard bookstore, You were aiming for a life in publishing - maybe not enough time left to do everything. Working in cafes, it’s not making me much. We’re really trying hard to be adults. Talking about those years you spent walking dogs, Sleeping in a living room and putting on house shows, and to this I can smile, knowingly. Kind of funny how we’re both also newborn - I’m out of school and you’re new to the city. And that time - Sunset on your porch - passing the wine you bought - Tracing your twenties out loud along some fragile thread With your long black hair and boxy glasses, the galleries you arranged - your mouth tastes like ash And when you’re self-aware, there’s a jadedness, but by habit you’re kind And so I wonder how you see me (as I refill in my mason jar); the doors behind us are closed and the future feels like night’s long tunnel (asking myself, how did I get here?) but with new faith, we’re armed. Mandala the wind takes. All I feel I’ve got are some books and a degree (and one record, unfinished.) And I saw her, alive, on our second date (at that show in Cambridge.) You were 28 and I was 25. That was the fifth time I saw you, out of nine And you know I’ve never smoked a cig, watching the smoke rise. Third floor, cool wind above pregnant green dark deciduous swaying, orange streetlights, Stony Brook rumbling nearby. Not enough time to do something - Maybe there’s still time to do everything Drawing flowers on the back of receipts - Alain Delon, Antoniennui And you know, the more it seems I think about it - I see I’m no stylite (though marble floors aren’t the treasure I’m after). Five years in this city and it’s time to leave soon - Too many ghosts in this city and it’s time to leave soon - Cults are based by this tower and it’s time to leave soon - Ghosts - Ghosts -