I. We’ve peeled grapes enough
to taste the tannins, their smell
still damp on our thumbs.
And I can still hear every tune
your lyre has ever sung.

II. You used to catch me hanging
over 7 a.m. traffic
from a ninth story guardrail.
It made me feel alive
to be lost in the smog.

III. You never did believe in fate
but the mythology goes

The snake bit the foot
that trampled too close.
The foot was being chased
because it was white.
And you could not
have wanted it
any other way.

Regret has no place in this story.
Had you not turned when I called,
I could not have loved you.

IV. Take note

of why the cold-blooded snake
strikes at weakling rustles in
the grass nearby, his grace
of execution; how well he sloughs
off what’s dead and turns wholly away.