the one I remember

recording you
the one I remember
ancient top forty
three minutes slices of
you leaving my hands
across the snow carpet
that December
no hands no hands
on my face no memory
of all that is inside
of you all that you
showed me
you the one I remember
the repetitions in the chorus
my madness chases
your madness down hours
through alleys the division
of this time finds nothing

there is left: the drawn scalpel
trailing the slit
the liquid sweating
out red across the land
my communist affiliation
Death: you drew me
edges painted with
your silver

From Fresh Wounds, 1975.