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At the Frick
For Simon

Which I visit in the darkest
Of my visionary hours, a portrait
Of a young man, serious and elegant resembles you
At your best
That deep wrinkle on your brow
And a mad streak of your Nietzschean eye
As you clean the quiet place that used to be
Our home, feeding the birds,
the love birds that don't love each other any longer
our numberless fights buried
loudly under their green feathers,
their flights in the realm of pure thought
where we once met, so, how
could I ever hurt you, how
could you hurt me, under
the shiny cloak of worldly comprehension
of the essence of human destiny,
human selfishness, human
love, in such a silly
animal kingdom?

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