so it was once
when you did each explore
in the crevices burned deep beneath
the blacksmith's pitcher,
and of kindling an unfamiliar taste
left to ravish haste
into statue-like disposition.

sometimes your fingers sting,
for it is you against dark
and cold does whistle
when your lips cannot part,
for they are chapped--
once ridden by an ancient kiss

where you once viewed the metropolitan
shadows against michigan's waters
though you were nestled
against sage weeping quilts,
resting at the sky
whom bids you no more

with stars the fury so soft
you smile,
because there is nothing else
worthy to do.

you'd like to think she does
the same; counting her toes
when they pad on linoleum ground,

and her being able to hear
against the streetcars rumbling below.