Former Lover, Expatriate Poet, Visits

That it not trouble my sleep
tonight, this night before,
this my nightmare of your coming:

That you come with your tongue of spiderweb,
            spittle of mad closets
that you come with your face masked in face,
            pastel appearances, false earth
that you come with your hand to arbitrary construction,
             quite striking, quite striking
that you come a foreign visitor, innoculated
            against local deliriums,
surreal kodak, guaranteed transient, sending
            postcards to a postcard home,
pursuing prints, romantic design,
            never the bare foot.

That I have no language
to say why? nor water for your mouth,
this drought.


for Sky, 6/6/77