You to whom I address poem
not getting on juxtaposed
train with rhythm beside
the mirror with its toweled
face covered anyone
in the cellist’s green lake
in the park after midnight
wearing the skinny dresses
the pawn and the king and the pawn once
moved into the towel’s softness
with the green running shoes
covered over by buckets of paint
and in the city most nights
the lights leak out into the bright streets

You to whom I address it
an opening
in soft blue
a sudden quick use
for the tunnel’s best platitudes
and the mirror itself
a closed circuit a radio

You to whom
I address poem
making films
of inner space
in the outer spaces
of the bending realisms (I love you so)
voice torn from the tracks

You whom
I address after
the body has borne
its sutures
the crux
of this week’s effigy
is the moth following the lamplight
into our era of bright hope