“ … Sometimes, after we had stopped laughing, I would look

At her & and see a cold note of sorrow or puzzlement go
Over her face as if someone else were there ...”
My Story in a Late Style of Fire, Larry Levis
 
When she was dying
she asked if she could become someone else
as she had with Mark, her great love.
He lived out west,
on parole with a needle in his arm.
 
We had met once;
In an instant he fooled and frightened me.
She could do that too
but out of love, did not.
 
She had spoken of years with him,
trading one persona after the next.
When she asked that of me,
I understood only the insanity and refused.
 
Sometimes we talked or loved as we had.
Mostly she lived where I could not follow.
 
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