Inhaling clove cigs and Simić,

exhaling raven-filled fog

that flocked about our heads—

I miss days sharing poems, Propagandhi songs,

and pot in your dorm room, Roy, you perched

on a mattress, back to cinderblocks,

thin frame bent into angles like a paper swan,

short, sharp bursts of laughter and glinting eyes

in an afternoon shadow that stretched and settled

in your corduroy lap, waiting to be petted.

How I cleave to these green-bud memories

from before you cleaved yourself from life.

Pursed lips emitted your desires,

Freudian sips of smoke coiling and un-

coiling in the air between us.

Secrets you kept like folded slips

of A4 tucked into your pockets.

I didn’t know that one day you’d fold

yourself, reverse origami,

into nothing, into a flat plane,

into whatever remains after fire and ash,

crow-clouds softly cawing ha! ha! ha!