It was a glittering shock. We clung to each other.

After that, I wondered
who would look after us, now we’d made something beautiful —
who would guard us,
and make sure we didn’t lose what we had?

It was quiet in the room, the clock patrolled
a used condom with its cooling universe of sperm…

I’d been reading Almost Translucent Blue,
then left it for a while: it lay near the bed,
at an odd angle, covered with pale dust —

I could see it, my face on the pillow.
And your hair was mountainous when I turned,
my eye Asianed, my perspective changed:

and I wondered, Who would love if we did not love?
Who would care, if we did not care?

America was mist, China a melting wheel of stars
(but we weren’t looking at the stars)…

I found it hard to accept
I must lose you. It was a fairytale exit,

our carriage of atoms awaited us,
pulled by the ghosts of dead horses.

What stability could we have, in what kingdom
be secure, beneath what rule, under what king?

It must be like this, a kind of peace: seabird hours,

sleeping on the waves, bills tucked into their feathers,
in the stillness of no dreams

rising and falling.