extend the arms outward, palms up, relax the wrists

this is no longer what you brought here;
this dust mutes the colors in light,
now give me that sight—
these
women through Dutch windows staring
at all
that you told me of when you met

there—down that street—there is

a restaurant
an old sign reads in gold characters

under that,
is the glass dragon

and behind him—

the young man waiting tables—
is the one

red, red face
you are looking for

I am sure
of it; you could say
his body is the mark
of his birth

he shares your forward perspective
and indelible
love for women
and the word.