In memory of Tom Clark (1941–2018), from a manuscript in progress. Sigo’s most recent collection of poetry, Royals, was published by Wave Books in 2017.

In the day, blood, yet we live by night
In the black between splashes, Jesus,
I just gave away your beautiful book Air to a poet on his 25th
   birthday
Only now to hear you have died on that brick racetrack of a street
Of course, I think of Frank and Françoise Dorléac
(you may have already met)
North Berkeley feels not unlike Beacon
Hill in its way, having absorbed the available
Institutional darkness, you once told me of how John
Wieners loved the Chelsea, whole nights starring Rene Ricard
or Harry Fainlight leading you to secret machines buried
In the courtyard, A London life of crumbling my weed
Right into your bag, right under my eyes
Elastic, flexible, Yes, I like breathing better than work
Poor Angelica, she is lovely as has been noted
Often throughout our history made of poetry or “an actual earth”
As Olson once soared above saying,
The green light’s still burning by the gate.