Untitled (Blue, Green, and Brown):

oil on canvas: Mark Rothko: 1952

The TV said the planes have hit the buildings.

& I said Yes because you asked me

to stay. Maybe we pray on our knees because god

only listens when we’re this close

to the devil. There is so much I want to tell you.

How my greatest accolade was to walk

across the Brooklyn Bridge

& not think of flight. How we live like water: wetting

a new tongue with no telling

what we’ve been through. They say the sky is blue

but I know it’s black seen through too much distance.

You will always remember what you were doing

when it hurts the most. There is so much

I need to tell you—but I only earned

one life. & I took nothing. Nothing. Like a pair of teeth

at the end. The TV kept saying The planes...

The planes... & I stood waiting in the room

made of broken mockingbirds. Their wings throbbing

into four blurred walls. & you were there.

You were the window.