Michael where are you
They found your car
On the edge of a cliff
Above the ocean
Near Daly City
And your brown leather wallet
On the front seat
But no one found you
I think of you often
Even after seven years
You’re legally dead now
You know
Once years ago
When we were kids
The sole of your right moccasin
Came loose and flip-flapped
All the way down Michigan Avenue
And the rest of us thought it was funny
To step on it if we could
You in your holey jeans
And plaid wool shirt
And then long after that time
You owned a three-story house in San Francisco
That I cleaned for you when we’d visit
Because you gave up your bed
So Steve and I could sleep together
And I’d hear the foghorn
Blowing from the bay
All night long
Michael
I had a dream about you
Soon after you disappeared
You were young again
You wore a powder blue jacket
With gray flannel pants
Clothes you’d never wear
When you were alive
But I saw your beautiful eyes
And you smiled at me
With nothing to hide
As you sat on the stump of a redwood tree
In the middle of Muir Woods
And there were people around you
I didn’t recognize
When I woke up
I was missing you
But understood this was a dream
That connected our two worlds
And you came to tell me
You are alive and well
In yours
*Written 1980, from Poets are the bravest, pub.date: 2001
