stove-warm eyes looking away
and the articulation of nose
and jaw and shadow,
that quality of familarity
like a signature rising
from your dead sleep
I saw you today
sitting alone by the window
gently blowing the scalding slick
from your coffee, there in the
charitable beams of the sun
listening to the soft talk of strangers
surrounding you like gauze
I saw you today
turning to love that person next to you
then gloom swiftly quilting your face,
a newspaper stained with your tears
from a world gone mad,
a world that spoke to you
some language of sorrow's end
I saw you today
sliding your fingers down
the granite stone inscribed with your name,
there on my knees, shivering with your breath
like whispers upon my neck,
on that bench above the river
entrusted to magpies and sighing firs
I saw you today
in the ten thousand things
that you touched without me
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