If blindness came to me

I would remember roses;

Structure tight and winding

To a center

Would be easy.


I would try to remember

The face I saw yesterday

In a huge cloud

Whipped by wind

And how the white face grew

And changed

From the wispy profile of a boy

To a wise

And somehow patient old man;

I would remember just now

The food in your beard

And how you said

As you always say

Before wiping it away,

I´m saving it for later.


But when I close my eyes

I cannot remember your face.

Sometimes it troubles me.

I remember pictures of your face

But your real face

Like my own

Is too close

And it eludes me.


You were curious when I threw away

Our old photo album of Rhodes Island;

You didn´t want to see

The photographs I kept

But all day you were asking

And so at last I handed them to you,

The photographic little stack,

A memory of you leaning against

A café wall,

You sipping black coffee,

You in your indian t-shirt,

You with the stray cat on your lap,

You looking down at it

With a smile and a kind word

For a skinny striped beast

No one wanted.

You in your favorite sunglasses.






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