My Friend Ariel

i sink into the big Saturday chair.

a worn brown leather
sofa beside
the big window with
enough light to read the fine
print.

i go back into Ariel.
an old

dark and mysterious friend.
the bee poem.

daddy. lady Lazarus.

the brilliance of her pen.
so much
reminds me of someone.

so much
is a rich bruised memory, best
left
unstirred.

untouched. there is no going
back.
there are no amends.