June 3, 1997
From Ellington's Theme
to Sarah

In my solitude
              with the persistence of vision
                                   your breathing haunts me

In my solitude
              the wailing siren awakens war apparitions
                                   your breathing haunts me

In my solitude
              the ambulance rush through ghost streets multiple channels
                                   your breathing haunts me

In my solitude
              with time's unknown dimension
                                   your breathing haunts me

In my solitude
              who combs your hair when your high fever is under the electric ice-blanket
                                   your breathing haunts me

In my solitude
              your breathing lives on haunting my vision
                                                        In my solitude

July 23, 1996

I’ve noticed
your face is dipped in cosmic dust

filling my pores

inside the psychoward desolation

a fraction sec. passing
stops the camera shutter

really there is not much to notice
in your typical unassuming way

in your driver’s license laminated photo
inside my wallet now

the mind’s snapshots
flash photos & photos

each now so different than the other
then taken for granted

why does it take death to notice
what the telescope sees up-close in cosmic dust

January 20, 1997

                                    you will never be back
& you are here in this moment that's gone
& you are in the arrival of a plane
& you never touch the ground in the landing
& you dial from the somewhere phone
& you never leave a message in the answering machine
& you are there in the street
& you are shadow penumbra & darkness
& you are always dissolving in raindrops
& you disappear with the sun in asphalt
& you are in the room when I enter
& you vanish becoming a photo
& I wait for the day to consume
waiting
for you to be flesh from ashes
                              then one day I will never be back

June 4, 1996

wanted the eyes to open
wanted the sun in the flash bulb
to bounce in your eyes
to just talk
about anything
of simple things
from the tubes interacting
between 2 brains
wanted that word
flowing from transfusion
to say
see
I am alive
a miracle
I would stay genuflecting
by the tubes in your arms
touching the purple swollen feet
to feel the circulation
the nurse saying
remove the tubes
she pulled through
she fought death
she is alive
& I would have kissed
new blood streaming
from your mouth
in corpuscles
filled with desire
for living

Tambellini is an intermedia pioneer, painter, sculptor, and poet. He has over 1,000 pieces of art and countless poems and other writings. Sarah Dickenson, his wife and artistic partner died young of illness in the 1990’s.