His reflection was there again,
In the back of the dancing
Light
And dust
Sifting through the space between my teeth
And his lungs:
The man with the blue eyes.

We
Giddy with the soft boredom
Of oneness
Stood mourning beside Nelly’s painting –
She was so young, basking in our vague sadness, and
Ripe with sibilant, insisting
Pastels.

Close, I knew the way he
Touched;
The way he moved and breathed
Was saintly, triumphant, with no
Agony, and catching …
Soggy dim lights smoothed
The corners of that raw, trembling
Grin
From the bow of his mouth.