(for Emmanuel)

i am trying to write this
poem down, without saying

things like: i think of you
like i think of dusk—

warm to the skin, leaving
a coldness, a sad blue light.

or say: sometimes when i
am alone and smoking cigarettes

i remember the way your eyes
close when i put my palm

on your face and stroke
your hair. how calm you were,

how soft, how i imagined
that maybe you were letting

walls down. I am trying
to write this poem without

you saying anything to me.
how this poem is anything

but closeness, anything but
fact. all i am left

with, is the harsh cry
of morning, the sun angry

on my skin.