Also, i don't know if you recall (or if I ever told you) but I wrote a response to your poem, long ago.

I screen my calls, which I always swore never to do
but we promised much in that age of iron and steel.
When we parted I vowed I'd find you
setting my silver blade into the bark.

I lied.
I walk toward the window, aimless,
staring at garbage-cans, pink buildings, a pale sky.
I can feel you waiting, hear you breathing across the cables.
Somewhere, the blood runs down the tree.