We love best the dogs who walk / upright, those sleepless explorers / who purchase daguerreotype hair jewelry / on eBay every night with no lights on,

Forgive my impatience / for nostalgia, your penicillin or wine, / your muddling through pleasure / as a map whose compass was inked / by men who put darker men / to the lash,

November’s flame in that year of hard sunsets, /      of winter’s plangency & days where sleeplessness  / & cognac ran together. / All our thoughts were beginnings, / and you were the roundness / that grew to a moon / above your mother’s hips.