Third Premonition: rue des Petits Hôtels

The wallpaper flowers
looked like foxes, sharp
noses pointed down as if
they were climbing
to the floor, although
really they were twisted
stems to make bouquets. I
pressed my hands to your shoulders as if
they might have joined there: what
did this crying sound like
in the next room? I couldn't imagine us
past that wall. But when you embraced
me as if I were something to be carried
a long way; and when you rose
to dress in the bathroom
adjoining and the tap
water struck the porcelain
and you said
while shaving Don't
you know I
love you, why don't you know
I love you-I knew
what day it was; I knew
how the sleeves of my shirts
were folded inside the shirts I had folded
into my luggage; perhaps I could even have imagined
the concierge downstairs, his hand hovering
over the racks of room keys
like pawnshop watches...


From GHOST LETTERS (Alice James Books, 1994)