o wee i am just a little person in this great big sea
this great big scene of people
what is past
when it bleeds into right now
so easily
a big black duffel bag in the room i am staying in
i left it here years ago
open it up to find old costumes and clothes of mine
capes, wigs, dresses, farming shirts
my old life almost
rags ringing still with those rhythms
in his house
his new house
with his new man
who is strange to me
photos of me are on the wall
are in the new book
but this man really won't touch me
with his hands or his mind
not with his eye
big suburban windows
through them i look out onto burnt lawns and the airport
just beyond the river
i haven't made it very far yet
from the airport
or the past
which, wrecked and misunderstood,
sits before me
i sit before my own image
and i sit before this man
yet another example of
i once loved and believed in many fragile things
thought the places and people i loved would be salvaged
excused from this process of change
time passing over and through what we love
i remember this land, this face
from a many turned page
bewildered by old costumes
i wore when it was all felt beyond forgetting
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