connie, you vanished on an august day in 1970.
and for you, i take my pills three at a time.
i break tablets into quarters, their particles slip,
they disintegrate into the fabric of the carpet.
you are, connie, floating in a marinade, you are
kept in a cool dry place, you are fallen stardust.
i swear on your debts, on your benign umbrella,
on the energetic people of new york, and ann arbor,
and everywhere else.
connie, for all the chemical therapies existing in america,
there are equally as many signs of life
in your coming apart.
in the light of the sturgeon moon of august,
i am the only one who saw you.