The moon is new and your seat is empty.
I remember how you sat here
wounded like a lonely city.
I turned my back to you as if I didn’t care
wishing you would teach me
from the book for imperfect people
in the language you speak well
like you did one night
that was complete like a city at noon
under date palms.
At dawn, I wanted to kiss your forehead.
You turned your closed eyes to the wall and I forgot
to say the prayer for the road.
The city was brisk and brilliant like your mind.