Danger

I wonder if I should share with you some of my sadness.

First, let me bore you with realistic details: Certain desperation led me back to the offices of my former employer. I said hello to the old friends and revisited my old cubicle. I sought the director, a certain Stephen.

"Stephen," I said, "I would love to work here again."

"They always come back," Stephen said.

"And would you please tell Jane? I couldn't find her."

I walked down the halls, through the IT department, which had grown, and to my own block of proofreaders and editors. Did I want this? Oh, but yes I wanted $60,000 a year with benefits, and of course I would still have time for music. And I'd once again be able to afford to be a patron of the arts. So what if I was cubed? So what if I had endless emails. So what if I was creating standardized tests . . . in a virgin industry . . . in a blind society . . . stabbing at a capitalist, Republican, and Christian measurement . . . of productivity. Well, maybe I could work part-time only.

Was there any way out? I had come all this way. I had begged and revealed myself desperate.

"Stephen," I called, jumping and floating over new hills. "It was all a bad dream! Please, it was all a bad dream!"

* * *

And then there were cafes. Late-night cafes. Even alcohol does not equal a decent bitter coffee.

* * *

If it is loud enough, maybe it will be the last I hear. My favorite music happened only once and was barely recorded.

* * *

I have written about snuffling, and it's all I want right now. Granted — I am four sheets. Do you know?

* * *

Truly, I can only love asleep and in space.

* * *

Remember the chestnut trees in the gardens of the Tuileries?
     You took me by the hand . . .
Remember the mists on the Seine and the bridges in the easy rain?
     You held my face and kissed me . . .
I held you — I kissed you.

     Remember the fallen birch in the cloister of the little church?
I took you by the hand . . .
     Remember us drifting afloat in the silence of the gliding boat?
I held your face and kissed you . . .
     You shivered and trembled . . .
You quivered and shook . . .

Remember the fragrance of mushrooms in the air?
     I remember there were raindrops in your hair!

I swore to love you always!
     I swore to love you always!
I gave myself to you forever!
     I gave myself to you forever!

—William M. Hoffman

* * *

I imagine you sleeping alone, and I die. As strong as you may be, you do not exist without me. Your empty bed is a sad dream. Lesbian sheet, boy-band pillow, and Bo-Peep blanket — all are a sadness without my complication. For we have known what it is to snuffle against our necks, and your arm as well as mine can weather the night under a beloved head.

Those days — those nights. Which happiest moment would you choose? I couldn't choose coconut shrimp over Starbucks or a smoke on the back porch. Alone: filming the tree outside the window or speaking in German against the chair outside the bathroom.

* * *

It is deadly to think these things. All the same, God is an amusing story for children and baby species. Very few other things besides are real.