For a moment I dare to rest
my head upon your shoulder
close my eyes, inhale
the scent
of hot iron on your cotton shirt,
of soap on your skin.
The fall fog you navigated
on your journey lingers
mist in the mind whispers
stowing years
into minutes’ remembrance
laugh a dance of voice and heart
as the light slants day’s end
hold my hand and lead

these are but whimsy
this resting on your shoulder
this waltz in moon’s musical luminance
dreams have I, here in my hot closet of words
of you
there, wandering the woodlands
I, here with my imaginings
my half-blind etchings
and you
there, between the headstones
photographing candle flames
and I, here, plucking images
with my frog-tongued pen
of you
there, in your mansion of ones and zeros
gathering numbers by the rules
and I, here, breaking
and you
there.