l'Žétoile


those cinnamon-roll breakfasts

& unstructured days

on a footprint coast —with twenty toes that didn't mind getting sandy


that trip to Monterey

when she received her mother's rings

& settled the rest

of the estate

—out in the bay

seabirds stalked a fishing trawler—

at probate


there were two, maybe three days unshaved

a Sunday afternoon half-read

speaking in tongues on her unmade bed

     

We'd wait long enough till our friends all got up

to leave

we'd just agree them away      —finally

left to our own devices

(& her (hidden) vices)


I know how

the sun pushed off her back

when the days peeled away

like a 30s movie calendar


& other fragments I remember, Venice —music

the cry of gulls

the ravaged youth turned on a weary world


her asking

               Is this the easy part?


how every morning belonged to the children

pedaling two-wheeled  

wide awake to the ocean


those lucky shells

her sea-breeze necklace

a talent I learned

from the lady nameless


—If I wake into another dream

she'll be there to gather me


the poison that touched her lips

I would have taken it


Her perfect goodbye, That Hole

in the sky