STRANGERS TO EACH OTHER
I had red lungs saturated with blood and air.
Her heart was brown and frayed;
She would not send it to me to be repaired.
Although she went away she left
A little metal disk in my hand
With the words on it,
"God, I love you."
I made money and wired her,
"Central and peripheral, autonomic,
Sympathetic, parasympathetic sympathies to you—
Nicotine caffeine hormones—I know
Of your discontinuities, pains, and most private cells
Though you are in San Bernardino."
She wired back, "My blood has passed
Into the flowers and stones,
Has flowed into the sun at dawn—
I can speak to you now only through
The most obscure formulas,
The most pure and rare solutions,
And through stories about people like me."