Two days ago a friend of mineDied at age 63.When I was youngI thought I knew what a corpse smelled like.I moved in the way of a feeling.Before I was born,My mother told me storiesAbout cow auctions, Ronald ReaganBecame the presidentWith a glass gun in his hand.We always lived near sand.It crystallized into seaGlass the color of opaque blue.On the other side there was nothing:I moved my hand over it constantlyAnd this was my first obsession.So many birds flew outOf the tree across the street,There must have been hundreds living there.My grandfather came to meIn deep wooden bowls, we filledThem with citrusy fruits and madeAn architecture of constantly darkening time.Happiness was the momentBefore you needed more happiness,Or so a woman in a blue hat told meBefore she laughed herself back into place.When I first came here, I wanted to tellSomeone I had never seen so many fruit treesAnd without asking the last few peopleTo love me said yes yesWe know