Nachspiel

I saw you in the streets of London,
don’t know
where exactly it was.
An early afternoon, a sunny day
in the spring of 1985
passing me by, my pageboy, while
I was turning pages:
Saw you
in that long red coat you
were wearing for The Face
I was riding on the Jubilee Line.
You fell ill
in September —
une fièvre continuelle.

I well knew I was walking
the streets of London
exactly with you.
we went to a masquerade ball
way back in 1920
on cobblestones pale grey
under a peppermint sky
vanilla veiling the sun
glasses, above us all.
a lady with a glitter cap
on her black pagegirl hair
pushed up her gloves
in front of us and
I became jealous
of her for half
a moment remembering
she would be your wife,
vanilla flavour
in this second life.