One evening, I wondered if you’d not be coming back here. Here is where I have been, three years on our birth month. I am sitting down or walking slowly. Lately reminding myself go easy. I think all about this place as I go. Strange thoughts of New York, thoughts one oftentimes can’t sort out until one is someplace else.

And so, I am at an old style ice cream shop past midnight. Thinking of last time here with Jeremy and Katherine. He licked her fingers and I thought it was sweet. When I forget her name, I just think of the way he says it. How he loves her in the way he sounds it out: KAA-thrin. all drawn out and from his belly. You were in Mexico, and I had your car. You were to climb an ancient pyramid, and the day was warm. The day was sticky, and I would drive a long while to find us a home by the river.

The ice cream shop is now closed, and we have found our home. I sit here out in front in hat and sweater with the end of a cone on my nose to make the ice cream shop worker laugh as he takes out the trash after counting the till. He doesn’t notice and so I laugh at myself. A couple walk past and turn back to me, a real smiling young couple. The guy is holding a small pizza box, and he asks: “Are you hungry? Do ya like pizza?” I say I do like pizza but I am not hungry and thank you. I think they thought I am homeless but how? I suppose I may be until my rivertown arrival. Like you said, Until we get a bed.

I wonder: how do you feel about the passage of time, like freights. The energy of things. I reckon it’s just perfect. Ater the kid asked if I were hungry, my St. Michael and Christ fell to the ground. I picked them up and kissed them just like you said to.