I don't know
in the world's great house
we were raised in 
different rooms
and passed on stairways
you along the wall
me already more than half way
over the railing

Was it then
we began
sending each other pictures?

I was wearing
the shirt you made me
The way the sun was
you couldn't see my eyes
or so you say
I remember
the far edge of the garden
when you turned toward me
above your outstretched arm
the jacaranda
lifting its
pale architecture

you say now
you'd go that far
For the children

And tell me I can have
what's left of the beerglasses
these four tin plates
equitable distribution
according to the laws
of California

You slam the trunk lid twice
calling me poet
like that again
but delicately
assure me
God will bless all those 
who sail in me
before you drive away

William Timberman