Tell me your name and I will remember
your name as a way of honoring her.
Introductions and smiles are all I have
since Miss Emily Dickinson went to her grave.
Tempestuous eyes lost to the world.
Our memories sit on the world—enormous weight
of my recollections—her sarcastic voice
hurting me during moments of playful love.
If I am too melancholy for the world now,
you should have seen how it was
when she came to me in the green evening.