illustration by Juan Carlos Arbex from his book ‘Arrantzaria’

that I went to the store

with knot in heart and

heart in throat;

then

to the park, the bank,

the shore (the sand was

Christmas Eve cold);

that I swam up to

some tourist’s boat and

pledged to etch your will

across the globe

(I drew a rough map first

to set my course, of course);

that halfway there I stood

alone in the constant

consequence of choice,

for I did not know how

to sail nor brace

infinity against the inquiry

of finite horizons;

that my arms grew heavy with

grief and groceries so

you might sleep one brief

blue afternoon through,

in rooms dense with fur

and youth, ‘fore all too soon

your dying must resume.

All over my hands, all over

my hands your absence pools

in sobering delight;

that they should spend

a lifetime holding you

in the swift embrace of

memory.