Confronting your suicide (The Mystery To Be Solved)
To have missed the cues. To have arrived too late.
I remember you in Prague: Vivaldi,
a warm reception, the bearded violinist
& his shriveled hand. I remember you
in Venice seeking your illusive Diablo,
in Madrid where you read of the bear &
the tree & slept late. & I remember
you in our bed where we could
always solve our anger.
