Have you forgotten the dark piano bar,
the cloud-dimmed dusk, the steady drip of rain,
and, later, clothing scattered near and far,
the warming, clearing skies, the morning star,

Have you forgotten Niagara’s rumbling roar,
the crack of calving ice in Hubbard Bay,
the gaudy light’s long Key West sunset shore,
the one last day in Paris just before
it’s May?

Have you forgotten it all, and all so soon;
don’t you recall the phosphorescent sea,
the beach, the stars, the driftwood fire, the moon,
the wine, the bread, the cheese, that sad, sad tune,
and me?

Not much is known about Marcus Bales except he lives in Cleveland, Ohio, and his poems have not been published in The New Yorker or Poetry Magazine.

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