I think it will be winter when he comes,
not that anyone can feel it in Los Angeles.
It will be winter and I will know this
because there will be less traffic
and everyone wears pants.
He will come from a long way off
but I will know him
by his shoulders, by his chin
by his shimmering.
He will smile when he sees me
the smile I knew so well once
that I inspired so many times
stretching across the years like a bandage.
We will open our arms
without thinking about what we have carried
for so long and it will drop from us. Spinning
like clouds into each other, we will make