Please, don't go traveling anymore with me: you recede
like Pescarese seas
& the cramped home shared with a rose-eyed sister,
who's all fear and grief, too
I find a too common shared desk, e.g., faintly scratched
(while from my perspective
you've haunted more than that),
or the usual affrighted old woman face that's engraved
in pillows, is one too many--
And don't, because I do deserve it, continue calling me
and make fall on a son's own graying
head with all his books,
a too common shared, a much too canonical goodbye
Please, let me who am always lost without them just go on
looking for you in dreams, instead
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