got up before dawn   went down to the racetrack.   riding with the windows down   shortly after your first heart attack.   you parked behind the paddock,   cracking asphalt underfoot,   coming up through the cracks      pale green things   pale green things      we watched the horses run their workouts.   you held your stopwatch in your left hand   and a racing form beneath your arm,   casting your gaze way out to no man's land.   sometimes I'll meet you out there   lonely and frightened.   flicking my tongue out at the wet leaves      pale green things   pale green things      my sister called at three a.m.   just last december.   she told me how you'd died at last, at last   and that morning at the race track was one thing I remembered.   I turned it over in my mind   like a living chinese finger trap.   seaweed and indiana sawgrass      pale green things   pale green things