Disturbed, when Henry’s love returned with a hubby,—

I see that, Henry, I don’t put that down,—

he thought he had to think

or with a razor like a skating-rink

have more to say or more to them downtown

in the Christmas season, like a hobby.

Their letters will, released, shake the mapped world

at some point, in the National Geographic.

(Friend, that hurt.)

It’s horrible how near she was my hurt

in the old days—now she’s a lawyer twirled

halfway around her finger

and I am elated & vague for love of her

and she is chilly & lost for love of me

and we are for each other

that which needs which, corresponding to Henry’s mother

but which can not have, like the lifting sea

over each other’s fur.