(after Hugo Williams)
Do we have free will, do you think? I thought we didn’t
when I visited your studio
and saw your things arranged so primly,
stacked on shelves or tucked away under the bed.
Someone had draped a dress
over the shower rod
and written Why? Why Not? in lipstick
on the sleeves.
We left the flowers trying to climb
out the window and went
for a walk to the lake.
Piles of unkeepable promises
beckoned to us on the elm-lined path.
Alibis hid themselves under leaves.
Of course I was home alone last Friday.
Why did you wait so long to call?
Shadows hovered on the brink of disappearing
like a bashful lover masked by sheets.
I remembered a text I read once
which taught what to do each time
you’re born into another form:
Stay calm, even welcome
what is happening. Allow yourself
to be pushed from the everythingness of unbeing
toward the limits of light.
Then we went for burgers in a diner
and talked about our lives before we met.
I kept moving closer to you,
shrinking until I fell into the cup
you lifted to your lips.
