Dear Elation

There is something else you didn’t know.

You cannot be two places at once:
wearing earrings for my return and packing up every mirror in your apartment.

You must not dream for the rest of us.
You must dream for the rest of us.

Whatever you choose. Get into the car and drive.

I often think of our one memory—why is that—when we have known each other so long?

There was amber light over the high walls of a city.
It is an old city.

Boys and colts were playing soccer in the plaza of the kings.
The bay is reflected of amber, filtered through lantern-lights.

You were my friend.

Flapping hair.
Rife.
Feathering dress.

You cannot watch the same movie at twenty, at twenty-five.

Her blushes mean a different moment.

So, when this holds back
make plans,
make haste.

Make a jagged point in the rock.
You are the rock.