JAKE BAUER

SIX INCHES AWAY

for Patrick Carroll—

For years of summer, I rove the foyer
of our hometown, which so long you defined for me,
listening for your breath, lead singer

of autumn.

The hand that crafted the drawing, now erasing, cannot erase the drawing.

      Castle made of moat. Pistons Lose Big Ben. Slow

          snowfall

in June, and when one sees

a man’s vitals flooded
by thick mucus
there’s no good way
to feel about that, but, Jesus,

Pat, I wore your lungs

like a cape.