The Little Square
My life took on the shape of the little square
That autumn when your death meticulously organized itself
I clung to the square because you loved
The humble, nostalgic humanity of the shops
Where clerks would wind and unfurl ribbon and fabric
I tried to make myself you because you would die soon
And all my life ceased being mine there
I tried to smile your smile
At the newspaper vendor the tobacco vendor
And the legless woman who sold violets
I asked the legless woman to pray for you
I lit candles at the altars
Of the churches on the corners of this square
Then with eyes hardly open I discovered I could read
The calling of the eternal written on your face
I summoned the streets places people
That had been the witnesses of your face
So they might call you back might unweave
The cloth death wove in you