THE NEXT TO THE LAST LOVE POEM

That summer there were promises.

You weeded the asparagus.

I painted the barn.



WHAT IF I WERE LEONARD COHEN

What if I carried the moon in my back pocket?

Could I dance in my sleep?

Swallow your soul whole?

What if it were always Tuesday

and the sun peered

through a large cloud

shaped like a rabbit.

What if the rabbit came all the way

from New Mexico?

What if the rabbit were blue?

What if you carried the moon around

in your back pocket?

Would you smell like fennel?

Rain?

What if I were Leonard Cohen,

young and dreamy,

in the Chelsea Hotel?

Would you promise me rain?

Would I promise you solace?

There are lies we tell ourselves.

I am not a procrastinator

or a pugilist.

I will fight like hell.

When I remember you

you will always smell like rain.

It will always be a Tuesday

and the sun will peer

through a large cloud.

The cloud will be shaped like a rabbit

that came all the way from New Mexico.

the rabbit will be blue.

What if I died that afternoon

while you sipped a Cosmo

in the main bar

at the Chelsea Hotel?

Would you be hanging out

with Janis Joplin,

Thomas Wolfe,

Dylan Thomas?

Would I be Leonard Cohen

under a big cloud

that looks like a jack rabbit from New Mexico?

What if the rabbit were blue?

We will remember it the way we want to.

Will you end up weeping

in grocery stores

near the melons?

Will you burst into tears

in front of the asparagus?

You swallowed my soul

in Taos, New  Mexico.

It was a Tuesday and the sun seeped

through a cloud

shaped like a rhinoceros.

The cloud was not blue.

The last time I saw you

was in St. Paul Minnesota.

You promised me solace.

I promised you rain.