And I want so bad

to walk beside you;

— Bubble, Red House Painters
for Jane Kelly
Quiet, lost yet striving to be,

gazing from this clean student window

Grey sky, Dusseldorf,

feeling the timidity of not knowing the language

I’m thinking of you, wondering if this

might turn into some sort of mild trial

to discover how much I like you.

Where you’ve been won’t shock me

and there are few clues so far

to tell how I’ve acted, what I’ve tried.

The film was harrowing though we expected it;

your shoulder remains cool and secure.

We talked of embracing the moment, stowing

those gallons of memory on a remoter hill.

From here, in the middle of this unambitious

jetlagged afternoon, it feels again

like the eight years of not knowing you,

that you’re equally distant and close —

like memory, memory again.