---

“See how He loved [Them].”

---

swish, swish, knock
swish, swish, knock
a rhythm, a metronome
once a week,
usually a Sunday

you felt very near to me today, also a Sunday,

me weeping while sweeping, or vice versa

my movement conjured you, conjured the once-me and the eternal you/
me, looking down from the landing//
you, nearing the top of the narrow, 2-flat stairs
in your white v-neck t-shirt or “dago-T”
looking up over your thick glasses at me, with your big eyes
with your snaggle-toothed smirk, a gold cap on your front tooth, and mustached/
the broom in your beautiful hands / you, pure lank, pure elegance

i wish it were a saxophone.

instead of a broom or steering wheel.

had i snapped a photo of you on them stairs
with that familiar look/

and, what if i had!?
could you ever become a once-person, an image
in an album, a frame, a box; on a hard drive,
in or on a cloud, to me —
and not a living moment on a Sunday,
pulled in from the ether by rhythm,

and so present, here

me sweeping while weeping, or vice versa
in this quiet, rural place so unrecognizable from
our once-city-home /

i never even bothered to count those stairs

and, all them chances.

“See how He loved [Them].”

---