fragments for laertes

i

it was an improbable couple of days;
i would not have seen it coming

even a year ago;
the best kind.

ii

showing up at lorimer to find your flat
cleaner than perhaps it might have been or

so you said; you spent the afternoon cleaning
not just for me. and you were as you always are:

brooklyn eyes and caribbean skin
always in tension: nine or ten million people between

your ears and nothing but coral and mountains
in the rest of you. and you spoke about love and the

lonely trials of the metropolis and we brought in
shakespeare too, bonding over the nighttime emptiness of

places we walked our feet bloody to reach. if marseilles had
five to protect it we are two fingers for dreams, and the

world understands dreams less and less: it only
wants to sleep when it lies down.

iii

i still say i have no ambition, you know,
though such a doomed dreamer of a man;

i only want to keep myself in the thrall
of the universe and her terrible magic

for as long as i can, never to harden
nor melt—a tough thing

but the opposite of an accomplishment, i think:
there is not much else i want.

iv

opposites do not reconcile
i think, except beyond our power to try.

both of us, at odds with ourselves so
much of the time, blocking long-tongued

voices saying we must choose one
or another path to have peace, both of

us must see that these are lies
to reject:

peace might come and go
but we can breathe beauty.

we might never shut up about where we aren’t
but we can breathe beauty.

dreams are more like clouds most days than roads
but we can breathe beauty:

it will keep you
alive in the rain.

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