I knew him as a friend: married. She was older had a little hotel in Macerata, he was open in the whitest fissure. In the letter he spoke of filters to measure the blood in winter. I remember the dirty cellophane, the hand behind the glass. An alphabet creaks hidden among the smooth overturned keels and the photo-I.D. There is a love greater than you and me, me and you in the species, water over water. Used by permission of Story Line Press. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON A HARE by WILLIAM COWPER THE WANDER-LOVERS by RICHARD HOVEY SANTA FILOMENA by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE BELLS OF LONDON by MOTHER GOOSE HOPEFULLY WAITING by ANSON DAVIES FITZ RANDOLPH REUBEN BRIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN (IN THE DORIC MANNER) by JONATHAN SWIFT |