My life took on the shape of the little square That autumn when your death meticulously organized itself I clung to the square because you loved The humble, nostalgic humanity of the shops Where clerks would wind and unfurl ribbon and fabric I tried to make myself you because you would die soon And all my life ceased being mine there I tried to smile your smile At the newspaper vendor the tobacco vendor And the legless woman who sold violets I asked the legless woman to pray for you I lit candles at the altars Of the churches on the corners of this square Then with eyes hardly open I discovered I could read The calling of the eternal written on your face I summoned the streets places people That had been the witnesses of your face So they might call you back might unweave The cloth death wove in you