mi amante amigo

by michael walker

again, you're looking forward but ignoring
some diminutive portions of each of these
questions -- these new manifestations:
dime, (a pesar de todo) where's the bouncing
along jubilant without impact over those hills?
tell me, when again will we slip into a
hidden compartment -- a dance found
for a period when (oh! back then) we emerged
moving triumphant, and more so, moving
through our goodly silence of a past -- do we
even care about the topography of that past?

turning time, turning in time, believing . . .
is but a bare threat to our status in stasis--
you and I: we come towards you, from all corners.
what is new? what is not remaining remembered?
do resurgent thoughts draw our hearts together?

no tenga usted cuidado:
at some point you and I will realize this,
at some point we'll be well off to recall
how we were isolates of our own causes.
--in some time, we will become trinkets,
memorabilia of our earlier phases, icons even:
una naranja agria, una galerna, una galerada.
it is all a chronicle of us, so remember this, fair boy:
each reaching out drops a feather of your breathing.

--for Max

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