Can it be over so soon?
Why, only a day or so ago
You let me win at chess
While you felt my dress
Around the knees.
That room we went to
Sixty miles away —
Have those bus trips ended?
The willows turning by, 
Drooping like patient beasts
Under their yellow hair
On the winter fields;
Crossing the snow streams —
Was it for the last time?
Going to meet you, I thought
I saw the embalmer standing there
On the ordinary dirty street
Of that gross and ordinary city
Which opened like a paper flower
At the ballet, at the art gallery.
In those dark booths drinking beer.
One night leaning in a stone doorway
I waited for the wrong person,
And when he came I noticed the dead
Blue color of his skin under the neon light,
And the odor of rubbish behind a subway shed.
I sit for hours at the window
Preparing a letter; you are coming toward me,
We are balanced like dancers in memory,
I feel your coat, I smell your clothes,
Your tobacco; you almost touch me.