LOVE IS NEVER FINISHED

LOVE IS NEVER FINISHED 

      —for John Oliver Simon

We had rented a VW Bug, but where were we? 

Why him, an old ex-lover, why now? 

It was hot and dry, perhaps we were in Glen Ellen, 

Valley of the Moon, or some place in Northern California. 

Or was it Mexico? John and I made some epic journeys

together, it defined who I was as a poet and an artist.

The late afternoon air was seething with heat. 

The sound of trees creaking, interrupted crickets. 

We got out of the car, lazy, I left my luggage inside. 

Stiff with travel, we stretched and lumbered up the steps,

marveling at the woodwork on the porch of the old house. 

We went inside, our clothes sticking to our backs.

We blew our forelocks up off our brows like teenagers.

Drank from the kitchen faucet, settled in like dogs at the hearth.

But we heard the car rev, spattering stones as it disappeared.

I couldn’t believe that a thief stole the car with my backpack inside. 

John ran down the dirt road after them. I never saw him again. 

I wailed, feeling abandoned, and bereft. No money, no phone.

What was it that Yehuda Amichai said that love is finished again? 

Or was it love is never finished? I stood alone on that verandah

having to navigate in a foreign land without him. Some vacation.

The penny hadn’t yet dropped, I was in the land of the dead

with no way back home. Only the past, like a river, beckoned.

I dreamt all of this on the day that John died. 

12/29/21 CPITS Write On! Susie Terence class

That last dream landscape where I visited with an old ex-lover, John. We were in a rented VW Bug where were we? Why him, why now? It was hot, and dry perhaps we were in Glen Ellen, some place in Northern California. Or maybe Mexico. The morning air, seething with heat. The sound of trees creaking, interrupted crickets. We got out of the car with our luggage still inside the car. We lumbered up the steps and onto the covered porch of the old house. Someone stole the car with my luggage. John went after them and I never saw him again. What is it that Yehuda Amichai said that love is finished again? Or was it Love is never finished? I was all alone on that porch. having to navigate in a strange land without him. I dreamt all of this on the day that John died.