“If God is Art, then what do we make
of da Vinci?” One
never knows
what sort of question a patient will pose,
or how exactly one should answer.
Outside the window, snow on snow
began to answer the ground below
with nothing more than foolish questions.
We were no different.
I asked again:
“Dr, have we eased the pain?”
Eventually, he’d answer me with:
“Tell me, young man, whom do you love?”
“E," I’d say, “None of the Above,"
and laugh for lack of something more
to add. For days he
had played that game,
and day after day I avoided your name
Call it an act of omission, my love.
Tonight, while watching to the streetcar,
I said your name to the evening star,
clearly pronouncing the syllables
to see your name dissipate
in the air, evaporate.
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