After I.F. Annensky
First the sky was yellow
then white snow followed.

On a hand
was an amethyst: a cube of  lilac in hospital light.
•
Whose fault is it when no one visits?

•
Last night I dreamed
I was in a peaceful place
but woke up
freezing and ashamed.

On a side street (on my sheets)
one I loved passed
as a shadow.
Maddish, reddish, his fist
clenched for a fight.

•
I recalled
his body color
being soft like a child.
The drunken nipples.

•
Honey I called.
We were too late.
God and the gods have moved
outside the jeweled air
and sun motes   ...    

to where a star is:
an amethyst minus a poet.