You said once that losing your lipstick
on the subway was like dying. And I thought
what hyperbole! But now you would know
and maybe you were right. Maybe it was like
being sure you knew where something

was then reaching for it only to find it
gone. Once, on a bench under a yawning
banyan, I listened to you sing Mineral's
"Slower" under your breath. I could just pick
out you know you lied yourself to sleep to make it

better.
It smelled like hot sea and fertilizer.
The night was chewing what was left
of the day when you switched songs. For the failing
light, you were a playlist. Are a playlist. I know
most of the words, but I can never find your pitch,

the exact vibrations, the modulated tension of your missing
cords.