RINSED BRUSH We had so few nights together Over those years That it’s almost as if I can remember each one individually And totally. Almost, but I don’t. The nights mix together like paint and flow away, Running down the drain from a rinsed brush. I recall nights when it was raining or snowing And nights when the moon almost burst in Through the window. I can see moments in my mind In three different houses And they all run together in my thoughts. Walking out of a restaurant Or driving from her mother’s place to mine. It’s more about reliving the feelings I felt From moment to moment - As she looked at me from across the table Or how her legs looked in those long socks As she sat there in her t-shirt and panties And I tried to concentrate on what she was saying. My mattress was on the floor. Watching her sleep there is what I remember most. The warmth inside myself of this complete love, This utter certainty That I have not felt before Or since. The false warmth inside myself That told me as long as I stood upright Everything in life would have to work out. I had a dream about her this morning For the first time in a long time. She kept shuttling me from room to room In an almost empty apartment In order to hide me from various visitors. I don’t need a therapist to figure this one out. I wake up and it’s light outside. I go to the mirror and I look so much uglier Than I did when we were together Or maybe I’m just noticing it now. The walls themselves seem to writhe in pain As if they are being burned by the light coming in And I go back to bed, my nice cool bed, Lying on my belly and trying to forget All of the things that I’ve just told you.