One Hour Spent Talking
This is hollow: two voices strained for thought
in harried breath, voids between netted shut of wire
and syntax, but, still, you are, you are
everything I could think to speak of snow storms,
and light shows, south pols and night skis,
slow motions to tender rain and pictures in magazines.
This is all: two people getting along with their
smiles and exasperations, choking back truths
too kind to say, but, still, I am, I am
so summertime's smitten with every circle's rhythm
your hair bobbed with, every hand and mark
of black ink you pressed to cheek, just as
much as ever, really.