I made skeletal plans for the evening

I made skeletal plans for the evening with ashley and,

speaking with her on the phone, I invited emily to join us

since I would not have another chance to see her            she

said that she was going to visit with her neighbors for a half an hour,

but that after that she would come over

ashley came with summer

they found me in a big dark house

the only lights on were at the stereo and at the computer, where I sat

ashely is a friend who appreciates things and listens

he was voted most mellow in his high school class

he shrugs with his lower lip and seems to sniff the air

while telling stories, sometimes

he patters slowly and dances slowly, but he likes to mosh

I have trouble thinking of such characteristics of myself

summer I have known since jr high school

she is like a shiver, an intense reaction that clings, but sometimes

you can hug her

she wandered around while I got ready to go     first

the house leaned north from the bathroom light and then south

from the kitchen

we discussed the things that we had to do and the order in which

they should be done

as we drove to berkeley; ashley drove

the order fell in place like the tumblers in a lock

just as we passed roma, waving

we had made the wrong turn for the first stop

so we kept driving to the next

we went to kelly’s house; and since no one was home

we left a note on the door and

turned around to look for ashley’s bank

going down shattuck, just after we had spoken of the film on the

marquee of a cross street’s theater, summer shouted,

“ashley daniel jones, don’t drive like that!”

he had driven through a red light; he was astonished

I could only remember instants of pavement

we went to telegraph and bought the new year’s eve

primus tickets at tower

and then had dinner at a mexican restaurant

it was after ten when we got home and on my doorstep

was a note from emily

she had left two blank tapes for things she wanted me to copy

she had written that it had gotten too late

and that she had needed to pack

on the answering machine she said “ah” in a plaintive voice

and then “jim”

I built a fire in the woodburning stove

while ashley and summer watched

I sat with them in the darkness on the couch

before it, watching it catch

I shut the doors and got a comforter, while ashley and summer wrestled

before the muted glow of the tv, on the living room rug

we watched beetlejuice, our legs on the coffee table

sometimes like fingers crossed

ashley fell asleep and in the shadows and flicker his face was long

he woke up as summer and I snuck off to the kitchen

to make black bottom cupcakes

I put the violent femmes on the stereo and we danced

on the rug and hard wood

around the couch, each of us smiling and on our own

we danced hard and I slid open the dining room window

and sometimes we danced out the front door

eventually we collapsed over the wrong end of the couch

I put in the cowboy junkies and brought ashley and summer cups of water

we lay and lay and ashley fell asleep again

he woke up and I put on primus, but we still just lay,

on each other and on the cushions

that smell like salt and pepper

the bass was a dog at the door in the air around us

and les made me think of a parakeet version of beetlejuice

ashley said with precision, “jim, I don’t think tonight

is the night to make cupcakes.”

we put summer’s socks and shoes and longsleeved shirt on her

and they left, but not before I could point out

the painter’s stroke of cloud

just below the moon

I turned off all the lights in the house and climbed the hill

to look over the roof at the city and the blue night sky

I had the energy to walk to emily’s house

and I wanted to take her the money

that I owed her and had planned to give her when she came

I wanted to take her more and apologize

and tell her that I really wished

she could have been with us that evening

that we had never danced together or not spent time smiling wryly

about bad things

so I made the black bottomed cupcakes at three in the morning

peter gabriel in the stereo, around the corner of the kitchen,

the only other light in the house that was darker than the morning night

I took a picture of the flour on sugar with cocoa and vanilla

and the cream cheese

mixture with chocolate shavings on top, and I broke one glass

but the night, the slow night

that sluggish mink

I sat struggling with a poem at the computer while the cupcakes

were baking

but the sun would not come up

something about walking into the darkness made me think of sleep

I wanted to get the cupcakes and money

to emily’s doorstep before she left

for los angeles

but time had sunk in like an averted gaze

so deep so long                somewhere else