Set Adrift
I'm a big PM Dawn Fan
Set Adrift
A cedar chest
holds treasures
“corners of my mind”
have no room for
faces preserved in polypropylene.
“Memory bliss of you”
looking up at me from
a sleazy room in the Quarter,
laughing from phone booths in London,
sleeping backstage
in small-town theatres.
Years…eras…pile up
in this coffer of firsts.
The photos, like braille,
bring back to my fingers
what my heart had forgotten,
what had become
“subterranean by design.”
Closing the lid, I know what to do.
I take the drive
to visit.
Only now, I cannot open
the new vault
that holds you.
“That’s the way it goes, I guess.”
