He is in Katmandu sending me letters about the colorful trash
I thought we might reconnect like on a rotary dial phone
The way time has passed has been less like a banana peel slipping under my foot
and like a hood around people kissing in that one Magritte painting
She is in China, explainning the training to the people there
she said they live in shacks and the sunrise coming up through the smog
is other worldly.
I meanwhile took a trip to the grocery store.
Later in the rain I walked by it again, soaking wet, and bought a poncho
made of plastic from a homeless man named Alvin for $6.
It was a good purchase and I got what I needed, and he would get supper later.