And
“What is your favorite word?”
“And. It is so hopeful.”
And you were there at the start of it alland you were there at the end bitter as a nail
and you folded your hands like little dovesthat flew away like an afterthought
when you turned to me and the window lighton your face when you told me and I did not
recognize you in the throng of those whoare not you and I asked are we in a church
and you answered with the look on your facelike birds caught in a snare like on a voice
and I think it might have been my voiceand I could not do but look away my head
was not my head anymore or hold my thoughtsI never did get an answer from you but from
the man on the radio murmuring all nightand I couldn’t understand him so far away
and I could tell I was missing something importantand you nodded to yourself at something he said