three lost men

on guerrero the lost man and light rain
oiling the cobblestones and i wanted to know
did he think how shocking to die

alone in the woods as opposed to what, in a chair
in front of the tv or in a bed. he said it was
no problem; he'd had a good life. but

a lost man was lost and then he was found
and then he went to denver and then he came back here.
i have seen him buying poster board

and going to the gym. the woman was behind the gate.
her husband had died recently.
he was the one in the wheelchair. i saw him often

between the bar and photocopying shop.
her eyes were like the cobblestones
with yellow candle light; the lost man

had told me how the husband did it. i
understood. this lamplight reminded me of you
of course, forty five degrees. i hoped for a different

message, as on guerrero, how shocking
to die alone in the woods i said
but a lost man said it was really no problem.

garza blanca

you, too, had that house built
xanadu, after being

one of those i walked past
downtown las vegas

cup faced for your beer in the sun
and if i was on my way to a circus

circus; or did i think one day
for instance i would find myself

the same, with rotten fruit
flattened on your stoop

as you, in the bear park, while in your mind
in jacksonville: all those people

that bum? and shaking their heads all round.
they won't even believe it. no one will

you say no one will, you say no
one will you say no one will.