Uptown for freelance techwriting,
then home. The mouse hole at
the stove needs plugging. But first,

The hundred shadows of the evergreens.
The refracted
strands of the ripples:

Sheen on your hair on the back of your book
jacket. Intellect’s steel, perhaps I said.
My friend and teacher until we did not talk,

The blind boy taped you and we clapped
starving beak after crumbs
hoarse with cancer and one breast

Ultimate, white-haired
bandaged at the eyes like judgement
you lie at the hospital stainless faucets and the pipes