ELEGY

Peculiarly, the city 

you love

is dead already. 

Twenty-four seven,

all its streets are haunted.

Ghosts of whole neighborhoods 

(as you remember them

last time you were there) still

wriggle

you suppose—

like stanzas 

fuzzing their meaning

for each 

new observer, each 

new pair of shoes

moved

by the same 

unseen (absolute) forces. 

This time, 

It's all up 

to you

but only because it never was 

before. 

Can one side 

of one conversation

somehow

affect 

them all now? Oh

well, you tell
yourself, you
get it—this used to be called

spooky action—
at 

every 

proximity.