Without coffee, my morning is terrible, has become my cliche.
To believe her bridge too classical, she insisted I should know . . .
What was it that I should know?
I should look at the pictures painted on Greek vases,
She said one if her teachers had said, and so then should I.
We pause to look at a variety of vases
Among the collection of Greek pottery at the Met.
A profile too classical, I thought.
She said that no one she knows has her nose.
Beautiful I thought, seeing her seeing me–
I watched her obliquely.
I fell headlong into her eyes.
Something smaller this time,
Not a stone, no stone, into the waves,
A pebble, I toss.
What would it mean to be-go,
All of what has been considered between . . .
To be-gone, to be-come, to be-have.