until I lie in the hidden meadow behind your house

chipped yellow paint hot chalk path

hands of familiarity dandelions

between them– eventually the other animals

will arrive to stake the land, chew the grass

and neither you, nor I will be around to see it

but once

I met you on the train to Salt Lake

where everything had gone away

another day

we rescued a cat and named her

Calypso

had you spoken your mind more often

had I helped you do just that

Calypso might have been Sylvie or Nora

names and places in your mind left undiscovered 

your mother, whom I’ve never met, once told me

“this is the happiest I have seen her in years”

though I had never seen you smile

that night I wandered off 

recounting our meeting above the hills

where the wind blows endlessly in questions 

for the twilight ghost of you