poem from a foreign country, thinking a little about top forty

I stood singular still and watched a crow at the fishmarket/
his eyebaubles his walk caffeinated invented him, framed him/
a small and important old gentleman, black black suit/

I felt under this seeing a pebbly significance/the stumbling of this crow a shrine which reminds to forget/but I remembered you who I also watched and who also invented me with watching, with why does she stare at birds

I felt this catching of sight, your making of me
but you needed my fishmarket visions so little

And this is how I arrived--past iron gate down alley of carsounds/
room selected way pointed behind hallways staircases heavy locks and there a bed/
quilted, dotted with a succinct pillow, blue suitcases stratified, an open window/
I watched the passage of an unfamiliar sun across the strange wall of afternoon.

And became a traveler, a witness of comings and goings. Outside to the left of my new windowI found your broad brown face housing certainty and distance which drew closed/
between your black black brows with each rushing crackling drag
of a cigarette. Then I thought I knew the meaning of drags.