He Was Sick
If you dare to forget me,
I will stampede your streets.
I will carve my name
into the class on every subway car
and throw myself across the wild plains
of your crossroad.
I will say, "Marry me, Holden," and you will have no choice.
We will cut through the traffic
and imagine fields and mountains
in those feral lands beyond the Sound.
We will hold each other's waists in our hospital gowns.
We will live, somehow,
hitch a ride on the hawks and ask them to teach us
how the unwilling survive.