you drew my face in lumber crayon
on 10 point caliper paper
every year for 30 years

on summer evenings
we’d walk to the Princeton track and fields 
to sketch the lacrosse team warming up

for something to do

you drew serious and fast
never looking at the page
thighs and skirts a squiggle of face

explosive and static

at night you worked the sketches
in inks and gesso on the 3rd floor
by lamplight 

to Maria Callas

I fell asleep under the drafting table
in your cardigan and socks