But now I am afraid I know too much to kill myself

The car stops, not because

They watched blankly as we circled

I can see his upturned carcass far out ahead, a scraggled, steamy hulk

Against the surface a shadow like an angel 

I remembered her. She saved us both. We were young 

Sit holding her photograph

Stabbed twice from within

How many holes are there in the ballet shoes in your back seat?

Thirty-eight years and you

We didn’t say much to each other,

Sprawl exhausted in dirt on streets called Riddle

In the white house in Rutherford

In the old days of our family, 

And when it has vanished

Though I would still like to jump off a high bridge

High in its banks and beyond

When it rains, 

Racing full toward the bright horizon

And dream

And imagine myself hanging there forever

Quivering in a dead-man’s float