Remembering The Summer And The Fall That Followed

The art in the woods
The person that I accidentally thought was 37
The roof in the sun.

My stupid black skirt
My broken pin
That I cared about what I looked like
That you're gone.

St. Marks

Last time I was in this church, you were alive
And I sat next to my teacher, who cried
And two women were united
in love
By a priest and a poet,
and the words of a poet gone.

Oh, we watched from the rafters
as the city streamed in,
and a host swept the floor
of flowers
The observed congregation
preparing to sing,
We observed what it means
to belong.