I wrote B on my calendar

to mark the days

when you were gone.

I’d color

each square yellow

or blue, careful to go outside the lines.

Any film at the Forum,

where I could reason

the foreign and obscure.

You’d arrive

on the last day of color

carrying tomes. Remember how

they broke our table once?

Forgotten how a city

lights herself up. Jerusalem.

Your touch. Night rain

Some habits grow

into our brothers: Bereft

or Become

or Before.