He is Trying to Get Home From the Store,

but lake winds pick him up

& blow him into the clouds. I

married a dreamer. I wait. He

stops to listen to the early

lilac orchestra. He starts to

change into blowy horizontal lake

rain, then migrating red admirals.

I thinksay remember. I remember us.

We chose the imaginal

north/south somewhere

between Bartlett Avenue and Jupiter,

between Lake Michigan and

the Aegean. Remember we drink

Serbian Cosmos together, we eat

squash blossoms and red snapper soup.

We visit the Calatrava before bed. We

nurture a magnetic field of words. I am

remembering you back. Remembering

plays time. Thinking is all remembering.

I remember our young

bodies. I'm not finished

with us. Remember that.

If someone asks, "why is that lady

out walking in that lake storm?" Tell them

"months ago her husband went to the

store in a blizzard & never came back."

Tell them: "She can't stop looking for him.”

Source: The Transit of Venus (The Backwaters Press, 2016)