There are moments.
Gently, I think of you and smile.
Let us rest in one another’s arms
Not hurry from the warmth.
Wrap our memories together
Live them each again
Rediscover what we have found
Be grateful for love.
I met her in a dream this morning.
We must have been college students.
She had dark hair, I think.
Working on some project or another,
I thanked her for helping me.
And she, leaning at my shoulder,
As I sat at table or desk,
Drew near and our lips touched.
Not a kiss, wet and passionate.
A moment of wondering.
My hand touched her arm.
Then she was gone.
Awakening, I remembered life,
New and fragrant with possibility.
When friendship may have been love.
I wonder what she would think of me now,
after all these years.
Would she remember?
Silly old man.
I only met her this morning,
In a dream.
I shrug…but not where she can see me.
When she can see me, I smile and offer opinions, which are worthless.
She knows not to pay attention to my opinions.
They are sincere enough, but they are based on well-practiced confusion about how things look.
When we go shopping I am drawn to things that move or tick or hum,
Things that work, whether or not they are useful.
They are good if they have parts that fit together,
Forming a functional completeness.
I am fascinated or at least appreciative.
Things that hang or blend together seem accidental like a pile of leaves.