(for Tom Gunn
in memory)
FOUR DECADES

In forty years
knowing it all
cold during the day
night sweats
you never wept
secretly
with closed lips
on either side
of the pond
re reading your words
with a life size drawing
of a phallic friendliness
with a green cap on
and huge pockets
never running out of music
we speak about privacy
of the poet
from dispirited windows
of my interview
you did not want
disciples only discipline
showing me pictures
of fresh faces
at your reading,
you pass me
the French bread
as risen yeast
of forty unleavened years
we watch the frosty stars
over the Bay.
San Francisco
is always within reach.