:Photograph
The figure:
his taut back gleaming in half-light.
I remember how he looked and write:

          light, linearity, the geometry of dawn

He was only an interstice,
light falling through a high small window,
God falling past
the place of the Cross.

He'd asked, all innocence, one night,
"What do you do when you can't find women?"

I watched him dress once, saw him.