For F

For it is christmas again,
      and unseasonably weathered.
For you woke me, too early 
      too early that morning.
For the MFA taught me
      I had only beautiful questions,
and that was cool,
      totally cool with me.

For the ocean is always what
     I mean to say, but fail to say.
For I was afraid to turn,
     left at intersections.
For I was in a turning lane,
     and signaled, despite myself
For I could not throw
      myself away.

For the streets for New York,
      that showed anonymity.
For I finished reading, and loved
      only what I did not understand.
For the distances and contours
      of my ignorance, of which I am proud.
For my small authorities of will.

For identical lamplights, reflecting,
      my reflecting.
For the nosebleed section,
      more merry than any other.
For the helpless love of music,
     our old music.
For alternate endings.