Klamath Falls

I carried the letters of your name
to the edge of the earth,
the precipice
where Gauguin smuggled
deep blues
into a caldera
and crests of white
cover hemlock needles
beside the tongues
of black cottonwoods.

I remembered how
we would share a prayer
and then bury it
in the side of the mountain
with faint light
catching your hair,
and I saw your hand
in my pocket,
the curtains drawn,
as I lit my cigarette
with my last picture of you,
and gave you back
to the earth