I remember,
you were pointing a stick
at the moon,
It was the day before
the wolf bit you.
Near to the incident
with the toothpick.
You were with a girl
who rubbed brass for a living.
I remember,
you had a signed edition
of a box of bags
and dated an ex-nun.
Around the time
of the break out.
Sure, and as I recall,
you were studying wych elm,
or was in moonwort?
Either way,
that was the same summer
they moved the graveyard
into the secret forest.
Remember?
you had that bad sunburn
and my lung collapsed;
the very same day
as the mudslide . . .
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
Makes you think
real hard.