The Insoluble

Watching Woody Allen
I suddenly miss
the way we were—

wonder if it’s already
gone forever, if
I’ll ever find you again,

if I’ll ever have
New York
the way I want to have it.

Wanting things too much
is a form of sadness,
according to God or Gandhi,

I forget which—
I’m supposed to be learning
something about myself.
 
I seem to only be learning
which parts of me
won’t wash away.

_