I will tell you something that counts
I think of you when things are well and when things are... (listen!)
when we two parted in hopelessness and vain
I turned around moaning missing
how could I not like it or not
it was the best of times it was the worst of times
talking of Michelangelo and being in Thai a pro
yes that was long ago - yes the memories still come and go
in the midst of all I saw the world in your sm(eye)le
and spring and summer and fall
infinity in the way you looked like home
(I must've wrote a hundred poems on the way you felt like home)
the way you looked sat all alone
how many secrets can you keep?
(I wrote to you a dozen poems and read them on repeat)
if there were no you how could poetry exist
(if there were no people like you how dare art exist)
a little lover always said
you're never forgotten once a poet writes for you
my gentle precious friend poetry was made for you
now what
you are not gone never can it be
December is the cruelest month
never! never can that be
dare not leave here come let us plant a tree
come in under the shadow of our tree
I will offer you love in a handful of mud
(I will show you the world in a handful of mud)
