I know where but where where?

Nicolas Visconti

––And I thought of you,
how there is no future in thought,
how all thought is remembrance disordered
in order to create. I thought of the park and everything in it
skewed, the trees
blurred oak, not elm
and this distinction was especially important, for how
could I ever believe you real inside the great projection
I have remembered. Creation a braid of already
and already you are gone. Elm now

evergreen. That’s what I always wanted though––
suspension, disbelief. To turn
the couple huffing paint
into a family playing tag, their golden retriever flickers
behind the pine, nose vacuuming grass; the dog
now a matted Pyrenees, the family becomes
a swing set, chains wrapped over

in verdigris. Creation in flux, tenuous. Looking beyond mulch-beds, I’m afraid
the day I cross a body of water your name will fall
out my ears, into the addled current.
Fish worm through, all doped up
on flushed cocaine
and anti-depressants, nibbling at your signature
as I reach the other side. Now
you are the fish, and the body of water
is endless.