I measured out my own life with the contraceptive pills
and upon arriving back at my apartment I discovered
parties with writers, like this one in New York, are different
they’re not obsessed with death, but in fact they are
alone slowly floating through a series of paintings
and if they’re anything like me, they also cry all the time
and I was telling my mom about you, and you appeared on the path,
with your mom,—and after that, I walked in the cold
where all around me the immaculate expanse of a sculpted garden
rose up so steep it felt just like my nightmares