Letter from Marina

Amidst this haste and filth
beside river's black violin
 
its sluggish summer tune
should I tell you how
 
you hide the dead
without singing
 
Dear Ungovernable Lament
Are you like a log
 
abandoned on a road of young trees
Or is your life a stone
 
smashed
to bits
 
About the one of yourself
and the one of the one
 
that is not you
but is the memory of what you wanted
 
I have only this to say
how is your life with an image
 
Or has your memory started fading
until what you can pry loose
 
from the sea
is an island
 
etched in blue smoke
Dear Steam
 
How is your life with a stranger
from this world
 
the one we once walked in
argued over
 
and tried to burn