signal the presence of a river. 
A side road leads us on— 
parched grass, a rock horizon— 

how softly one is seduced by whispers.
Take notice, when leafing through, say, a Calvino novel,
of all of the pages gone blank

I guess at last the wall became a kindness,
something, cut off as we were, we could stand
to believe in. Fourteen miles of thatch and thorn.

How she loved that passage, even though one of “them”
had written it. But James was different: He could see
how women think—and how most men aren’t able to.

It was the sound of her writing that woke me. Since you ask, this
is what I remember. Her desk is just outside my room. Some days

September’s lovely in New York, the sky 
Returned to baby blue, the breeze now mild 
As breath, and if you’ve anything at all 

The willow is bare and the sky is full of willow.
Weeping into gutters, the sound of tires in rain
flows down and rises up to open windows

Let us console you. 
Music’s the answer. 
Of course, we’re caught 

Bathing, Miss Del Greco informed us in health class,
is very important, especially once you become a teenager.
In fact I can smell many of you this very day,

That’s me on his left. If neither one of us 
looks comfortable, it’s because I said 
I’m sorry to hear about his heart.