Iím in Charlottesville, hanging out after brain
Never have I felt so snowy. You are more caught in a globe
than ever. And I am outside, but in the real blizzard.
A scar runs from ear to ear
and I am told I will always wear a winter hat.
Itís not so cold here. In fact, I sweat.
Alaska still connected, but family is here.
They didnít cut out Alaska. That part is still intact
under a fold they call the Ridge. If I squint
I can see the pines along Chelseaís Shoulder.
Unfortunately, half of you is gone.
Up ahead, you turn at a profile and smile.
Call me or write me.
I do not think you've received my first letter.
My hands shake more than before so the lid
to the piano is closed
and the music drifts in, unrecognizable as sheets.
I pause and wait at the window, about noon.
Thinking, thinking of you.
Iíve been given photos. A piece of the bullet
in a velvet drawstring bag.
They say you left without a trace like the other man
but that youíll come back. A year is long I know.
Like a guardian, under my pillow.