Post Epithalamion

                       Post Epithalamion.
Move me to the sun where evening's opiate
suffuses my balcony, in Altano, Italy.
Where bougainvillea blooms sharp
against the cerulean sky.
Move me from my sick-bed, bring me
books, paper, pen, bring me lemon-
honeyed tea, your lips remembered
moist from the sea.
I will write anthems, codas
to your violence, burning deep
waves of passion, thrashing
against me.
Still, I am here. Still I will not
drown or go down. Instead
I will write your elegy,
a celebration, post-
epithalamion.