I thought it was gone. I thought it had left me or I had left it somewhere in the street, in a cabinet, inside the grocery store, at the gas station. The arguments were depleting, had become idiotic, fantasy.
your almost-mind from levitation reconnecting
to space the dust the charge.
Those glowing pieces will eventually dim.
But you have stopped wandering wallowing
in what has left you crumb because you weren’t
expecting to see Prince stenciled to granite.
The word
on the beige building. You were the boy
roused to see the sky the color
he described rain. Over the birches that color
the same as priests’ vestments during Advent.
His stenciled face in Paris after you’d lost her gleam.
After you’d bought mushroom crepes you
spoke to the shop owner in Arabic.
He recited all of the Arabic words for