Souvenir

It is irresponsible to dally
  with the horrible cliché of souls.
  But when I think of you, the flower
    
of the world is opened like a relapse
  and what I would call a soul begins
  to make a feeling like singing in

a strained and sincere voice. When the flower
  of the world’s opening, it seems things
  perceptible are still: it opens

in them. Rows of shophouses in Georgetown,
  remembered walking with you in a
  sun too recent to be hot but rich

and generous in light, as though the stores
  were giving it out in bright pastel
  or a rot-freckled white. Pink brick, clear
...