Dedicated to my father who captured some of these words from Love Lies Bleeding Don Delillo, 2005 in his diary years before he died from early onset Alzheimer’s in November 2019

When the sky has lost more buttons
and basil scents the summer air,
we will remember the snow on a Portland street in August

and its models cloaked in winter whites,
a haunting holiday recollection

In the end it’s not what kind of man he was, but simply
that he’s gone. The stark

Snow fell once in August on a Maine street. While, in another state,
our father slept a forgotten hospice slumber blanketed
in cold, conditioned air white. 

The highway overpass’s
arrows had shown us the way
All points to Maine 

as we navigated
the unfamiliar narrow

Later, after his passage, the pages
are so beautiful, we touch
them twice 

work over the air
held by each word, each pause,
each breath

contained in his diary,
or in the dog-eared

where we magnify, still,
the magnificent, where
love lies bleeding.