All night we talked about death, about everything we
did not want to relinquish,
our walks across the field down to the sauna,
the rain's nightly drumming on the tin roof,
the physical desire to write,
our electrical assignations,
nights at the movies with licorice and sweaty palms,
books that were like knives of honey.
But also the angst, occasionally bearable, and
the mornings when you brought coffee into bed and read
aloud the headlines from the paper,
our children who quickly grew tall and vanishded
from our lives,
the steaming cup of tea and the aspens whispering
through the open porch window.
The rowan signals with red stoplights,
the heart pumps assiduosly,
from a blue saucer the cat laps water
and my thoughts spread like rings
on the water in the blue saucer.