Cassandra*, whom pressing danger frightens,
Flies in disorder through Astoria Park.
Albert*’s horse escapes: he, following, fights
Evangelius, the Greek, on the N platform.
OF LOVES and LADIES, KNIGHTS and ARMS, I sing,
Of the lack of courtesies, and many a DARING STING;
And from those ancient days my story bring,
When the Greeks from Astoria passed in hostile fleet,
An ravaged Whitestone and Bayside and Long Island,
Flushed with youthful rage and furious heat.
We are entering another year, but there is no we. It’s just me, carrying your memory in tow. I miss you. A part of me wishes I could finally see you again, but I fear there is no again, no seeing you ever. If our meeting was guaranteed, I would maybe have already rushed toward it. What better reason would there be but for love?
Instead, I take you with me in the clear cool waters at the beach, in the tears that run down my cheek when I watch the sun rise at 5 AM, still bleary eyed and sleepy, or in the hot breath I can see on cold evenings, when the full moon in the sky reminds me of Orlando Furioso, who lost his sanity and whose friends had to go to the moon to find it for him.
I sometimes make a list of all the people who are now gone. Past parties or nights outs when we drank and laughed and held each other up when stumbling home are now irrelevant memories. And on top of that list is you. Albert*. Having lit a great fire together, I am now left to tend the embers of the past. It’s just too much sometimes.
Welcome, 2022.
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