the aloneness has a color
something blurred by memory,
something like a stranger's face.
you've got all the answers
when questions are as indiscernible
as passing clouds.
I know that you
can feel lonesome
even in a crowd.
I remember you the way
that a man wants to be remembered-
no arcs or frames
just waves of precious metal
a Mercedes with a moon roof wide open-
stars that were never really
our friends, anyhow.
Somehow you have a language with the beach,
the way kings have coins for eyes.
When I remember you,
I remember finding ourselves
alone in a room.
I remember finding ourselves
at extraordinary distances.
I remember finding ourselves
deep, in trouble.
I remember finding ourselves.
