The cold of twilight
Came early that evening,
The moon, a great yellow hangnail
That fell across the grassy hillsides
Where bees gathered
In their silent swarms.
We sat together on the sofa,
Empty dinner glasses between us,
Our bellies full of pasta and Italian bread,
Watching the headlights of
Cars lost in the dense fog
Of an early evening
Spill into our shadowed rooms
Like ghosts meant to pierce
The sharp end of our silence.
Your cold hand exacting a touch
That lingered across
The wool stocking of my stiff knee,
The kitchen still dirty,
The children already asleep.
Somewhere down the dark hall
Of apartment doors and mouse holes,
A grandfather clock chimed seven times,
An unbidden tinkling voice to touch
The silent reverie our hungry hands worshipped:
Our love, each other, this day,
A stolen second between the blackbirds breath
And the morning wake up call.
Us two, tolled of our early 4:30 am
Bent into the wall of one another,
A gentle cheek to chin,
As sleep lingered between us
Like a long kiss.