The Dissident

I could not write about you then

just as
I can not write about you now
you, to me, are eyes directed
just above mine, though you are shorter
you, to me, are hair emblazoned
with a weariness attributable
to lost love, lost chances, lost love

and that was not what I wrote about then
and that is not what I write about now
perhaps one day, I will
write about such sad things
perhaps one day, before you die
in Vancouver

March 30, 1998