all the pictures are scattered and the one
that was not among them even to lose
could have with an extra effort been you
my lady disdain skittishly doted upon
in that distant summer of yours whose elms
are all fallen now and the blackbirds extinguished
once in a museum store in boston
i bought a stuffed toy bat and named it bea
even though your actual name wasn’t
but those fitting the image were too generic
isn’t derision aimed at the departed
a way to sustain their post-existence
when every memory is akin to love
the quick and the dead we fade away together
inside the camera that seldom clicks
is an homage in an alien tongue still valid
and the bard allusion still operative
outside of its native jurisdiction
the next day i bestowed the unlucky toy
on somebody just met she may recall
and be my witness everything turns out true
in case you wish to know
how it was between me and your bat
those yesterbirds are sparkling black
all over the white sky and you are lost
stripped of all travesty staring at an empty photo
among the neverelms
