Seven.

I never know how to begin anything
that I write about you.

Things that I learned tonight:
Someone else saw you throwing pebbles
at my window that night.
They said,
He doesn't seem like the type
that you would have in your circle.

I have accidentally bought
the same shampoo from last winter,
when you stayed with me for days.
I didn't know this until I was
squeezing some into my palm
and it smelled like our mornings.

You would always complain
when I would wake up
and get out of bed first.
More specifically, you said,
You are never here.

And somewhere along the way
I began collecting poems
on oranges and bicycles.

And I'm sorry that in the beginning,
I didn't know you well enough
to translate anything correctly.

I would have taken you in better.