I am with you in NY
at a hotel. You’re in bad
        shape. Just a year
        ago in Colorado we
all walked with the wirehair bouncing
on the sidewalk. You put in
        a line direct to
        Denver and were to
civilize the world with silver goblets.
You’ve moved too quickly again. We
        talk about it through
        the night. You’ve dropped
so low I seem to be
your father now. I speak firmly,
        telling you to resist.
        Why do I speak
this way? Something prods me. Perhaps
that’s what you need. But we
        do talk well. You
        know as always I
love you. And I know what
I am to you. I have
        to go back to
        Maine to finish up
the term. I don’t like to
leave you. Now I’m the only
        one of us you
        see. We say goodbye
and I promise to see you
soon. Back at school, I hope
        you will pull money
        out of the sky,
you will somehow fight and feel
better. It’s finals here and I’m
        cramming. My roommate Bernie
        from Austria tells me
not to worry so much. But
he’s pre-med, works like hell too.
        The phone rings. Dad.
        ‘Can you come down
right away to NY?’ You must
be crazy’, I say, ‘This is
        exam week. I’ll mess
        up the whole term.’
I am angry. I am surprised
that I’m impatient, but something prods
        me. ‘Please come.’ ‘Dad
        I can’t.. Please wait
till I get through finals. Re
you okay?’ We talk some, but
        I can’t remember words.
        He’s in bad shape.
I shout at his sadness which 
is piercing me. ‘I’ll see you
        soon, I say.’ Click.
        The week is a blur.
but I’m on the golf course
with Roberto and Hans from Mexico.
        first time I’ve played.
        We come back late,
a bit slaphappy after the grind.
‘Someone’s been trying to reach you
        all afternoon.’ I call
        back. My Dad’s assistant
in Colorado. ‘Your father left NY
for Mexico. Then he flew here.
        He jumped around noon
        from the top of
this building. Are you coming
to the funeral? I leave for
        NY. No on else
        is going out West
except a business friend Jack who
is loyal although stuck with debts.
        They tell me he
        folded his topcoat neatly
and put his felt hat alongside
before he swan dived and forgot to
        float back up through
        the warm May air.
There are some silver goblets left
I take with me. I cannot look
        at his face. I
        don’t want to remember
anything but my father alive. The
air has a mountain clarity. It
        is beautiful there. I
       will not be alive 
the same way again, without him.
I can’t take that untaken trip
        to NY. He is
        with me even now.