kasia o caritas i suppose this is the last poem i will write for you i am writing this because i saw a picture of you today and below it the news of your death your face— unchanged in the years since i first saw it and exactly as i recall it when at long last i sat across from you your face— with all of the youth i see in your daughter's your face— pleasant and alive in the world i looked at the picture for a long time and several times more as the day wore on I heaved sighs from my past-drenched heart into my lungs and out again into my rain-grey'd living room i thought about beginnings how once your words coloured pictures i'd had in my head of you since before i knew you even existed since before i knew much of anything really you seemed too to cling to mine although i found not as tightly roald dahl said if you are interested in something no matter what it is go at it full speed embrace it with both arms hug it love it and above all become passionate about it lukewarm is no good so full speed i went it was no good i think now about endings twisted words misunderstood smiles unaccepted apologies and how we really don't know anything at all about  anyone so this in all sincerity is my last apology for my wishful thinking my useless desire my refusal to see what lay on the table over which we spoke all of that but mostly for my words 221230 ... o caritas Moja najdroższa Kasia, I lied. I'm writing another poem for you. I guess because I don't know how to process this, your death. But here I am still thinking of the impossibility of it all. And eulogies. Daughter Mother Friend Poet Musician Journalist Brilliant Funny Beautiful Dead That last one doesn't suit you. The thing is, I've occasionally morbidly wondered since last we spoke —  when everything broke  — if you might recall me fondly upon my eventual demise. Kasia, I was supposed to go first. 230111 ... o caritas trouble in the heart finds its way to empty streets and whispers our names 230111 ... o caritas I can't stop trying to understand how this world keeps spinning without you in it every time I think of you i see you seeing me for the first time and then your first glide-step in my direction the grace in your movement two hours was not enough but now with you gone it's everything 230111 ... o caritas i think about you often but yesterday of all places as i walked into chicago union station there you were with your girls arriving from points south pretending i didn't exist and this time i almost pretended that you still did 230325 ... o caritas february 2005 i sat at the airport in Lansing awaiting my flight to montréal across from me on the wall was a giant number 8 the nearby gate i recall this so vividly because I photographed it juxtaposed with someone eating haha 8 eat ate today i'm sitting under that same number eight and memories flood i recall the 8 of course the photograph eight months later in that same airport again on my way to canada kingston this time i passed an advert as i boarded with the acronym sos and you and your love for sting drew me to once again raise the camera in kingston we exchanged stolen-moment emails at every opportunity i wished so badly madly that i could share my king-sized bed with you despite geography's obstructive nose you were so playful then provocative evocative modest but not shy my first trip to paris came within weeks you were with me in spirit as i stood under eiffel watching embraces of lovers that were not us again that damned geography and parenthood and marriage to someone who dared to beat you when you disappeared with no explanation i wondered what i had done you would not tell me for another fourteen years but by then you had kissed and made up and had another girl two that would require all of your love that's what the number 8 means to me 230331 what's it to you? who go blather from