Epigraph
(For Ross)
I tugged hope tight about me and went
through streets marbled by moon
stepped between puddles of memory
searched for the lost and misplaced
cast out into abandoned gloom.
I found a dead cat a matchbox a letter
the annotated works of women
written on tombs a comb
my uncle's sideboard and his wig
rakish atop a spittoon.
How I ached for all I had forgotten:
a kiss a touch a blow
and how I grieved for lost hours
lost moments
tomorrows never known.
A wind drove me out from the city
into gentle hills and fields
to a wood where a stream lapped lightly
and the stones at my feet
and the stones at my feet were smooth.