O t h e r   T i m e   A r o u n d

No one in the redone old apartment
building would have known me and I knew no
one there but a sort of memory had
remained in the brick
the yellow brick’s own
not mine I mean that noted me walking
past in a later winter and looking
at a third-story window behind which
not much had happened
yet if I had stayed
I might have died on wine in that window
view of train station and hospital
two
points of departure
I would have had to
remise what I had been until that day
to the bricks’ keeping
would they have known the
grayer man on the avenue now
where
nobody did or would have wanted to
know me and I did not know anyone
or want to was the kind of kind hometown
to have but something unredone in the
old apartment building took note of me
on my way
winced
had not expected this

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