In Paris, the moon was a pad of butterand the sky was a room of girls. Oh turnme over and over again like the sun.I’m so in love, she told me that morningas we pulled off the freewayand took off our shirts. Sorry, what? Cow parsley/bright ragwort. Pete’s greengagesand grapes on the dash. Yeah, there’s a droughtand the crops won’t grow. Can we pop into Tesco? Wait—go. Down the footpath that leadsto the back of the old graveyard, the Wyeglistens like a coldblack bull. Press my cheekagainst the chapel floor and the stonewhispers back, St. Michaelmouthing to us through the glass. What do you mean!said the devil when I ran. Cut me, baby, greasethe blade. I used to be ableto stomach the dare—red light/white mare. Watching the storm thrash like a prayerfrom the road by the vineyardand the window upstairs. I remember a sheepfoldwith you in it. The godlikeserpent in the hills. I’ll tell you the problem—I left. Bad debt. It’s trueI wanted Joel to grabmy blueish neck. Remember that New Year’s I kissed your girlfriendand the whole house spun like an idol. That breakbeatquickening the rafters. The night I guess Iproposed to you among the clay-dark trees. I’ll tell youthe problem—all this is going tobreak my heart. Beneath the great arch bridgesthat blink at me slowly, the sirens are singing for someone elseas a houseboat oracle spreads Anju’s cardsand valerian bursts from the walls. In Notting Hill,we move in together and shoot lots of gearand he says I swear. What was all that for? asks G. at the divewhere we met, and is answered. I’ve seenthe things boys write about me. At the beginningof the line, when I thoughtyou would be the one to save me, my faith was a barren tunneland the moon rising over the crag. When I followed you—yes, followed—to the edge of the knife-green sea, sweet pieceturning like Jesus inside me. My heart is a muscleturning like Jesus inside me. I know you know, butGod, my friend, we’reshot. The clubs are closing.The girls I loved have children now.