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I fight river fog in deeper Junes
retracing ancient footsteps to this place.
All my loves hang from bits of ribbon,
suspended in amber orbs:
a glow through the Georgia pines on cooler evenings.
It is always a relief to return,
to find you all here, waiting,
each flickering in the branches, eternal.

I touch them all,
light on my fingertips and against my cheeks,
rub them like a thing of luck and
peer inside to see the things I forgot
but could not leave.

This one glows darker
a tear in my lashes, blood at the corners,
a fly stickily waiting,
syringes in both our arms.
And that one I visit oftener,
though he never loved me.
I see numbness in duller rooms,
open mouths in sleep, him
wishing I was another woman.

Ah, and him. This one
ever brighter, always.
Snow globe of harvard square
swirling, old dormer
windows still twinkle merrily.
My hair was short that year and I was
truer. I spy on us in miniature
in the only scene that ever appears: snow flying,
hands clenched together, you and I,
eyes caught and netted into each other,
our souls fat with contentment,
an unfiltered cigarette stuck in each mouth.