Love has turned me into a moron of inordinate measure.
Through a dirt dusted window I can see a porch, and through the
windows of that porch I can see the sky: all bright blue and bright
cloud, just speckled with green-yellow leaves–just from this angle,
Justly, I attempt to write on a subject that is not you; I fail.
I have half a mind to not go on living
this way, jolting from one jilt to the next.
I remember that Puerto Rican parade. From
my window we watched, naked.
Remember when we noticed all the trash outside the projects?
And we noticed people throwing more out? Did you know
I loved you then?