It was Reunion (Panther) | I carried around with me, all the while, a bag of shattered glass | which made a soft clinking, crunching sound | and you can hear it, now | though no one, in the past, heard it | A branch of red coral, and the Greek coins | a Pegasus from Corinth, a Minotaur from Knossos | Such things | And you were the go-to guy for beating up | for rape or to kill a little time | drinking Zwetschgenwasser, keeping the fallen plums from going to waste | on the hillsides, on hot evenings | before the true disaster overcame us | And is it right, a friend always needs an enemy | the same way | an actor needs a cue? | You hear it? — that gritty, glassy sift | whenever I move? | That evening, you were the go-to guy | and so I went to you

To be far away, it’s the fate of everyone | and not to care, and not to understand | Coming to you at a tangent | I remember that terrible evening | I think I was in shock | and the event is crooked in my memory | inevitably distorted | like a black stick | from an old plum tree | seen through the clear medium | of a jar of clean water | as if broken | and I suppose it is | broken | I still | can’t quite | process the events, you know? | We only meant to kill a little time | to kiss maybe | to glance in the mirror | watch the planes | heading for elsewhere | to read and perhaps to kiss again | and then talk about what we’d read | You deserve to be hated, and so I wonder, why it is | I love you? | Oh, no — wait | My mistake | This is hatred

 

from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, September 2016)