Poem for J.K.

chelsea hotel dirge
after Leondard Cohen

I know I should write a poem about you.
a friend, a former lover, dead.
I should write things about how much

                                                                         I’ll remember you
                                                                         I’ll think of you
                                                                         I’ll miss you.

I should write things about

                                                                         The good times we had
                                                                         The laughs we shared
                                                                         The love we felt.

It doesn’t seem appropriate to say

     that it’s hard to remember your face
     that more than your touch I remember
          your withdrawal
     that others who have shared my unmade bed
          have crowded you out of my head
     that I can’t suggest I loved you the best
          or even that I think of you often.

It doesn’t seem appropriate to say

     that I don’t grieve your death
          but your life.

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