I’m not in with this mystery. Somebody steady me.
Cool ocean breezes don’t make me laugh.
I’m in with noisy metal little nils. A million apologies.
I must have made more.
You were sensitive, you needed them
No you weren’t and you didn’t. In fact . . . oh forget it!
In the middle of the ocean reflected with the moon,
good place to show; probably no one knows you there.
Your leaving, the thrown rope up to sky, climbed up for real goodbye.
I realized my reason insufficient; you must have considered this.
How my specific lean to you smelled like an old paper cup
of funny water and you were not very thirsty.
You came unbidden initially and often. A field
and flickering wicks of foxes from here to there. You.
Holding Hell at bay. Back to ground,
I see you on the moon with your mirror
catching action on the parallax.
Some kind of wise guy.
Ish Klein, “An Institute Is Closing” from Union!. Copyright © 2009 by Ish Klein. Reprinted by permission of Canarium Books.
(Canarium Books, 2009)