Couple
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
warm golden, glowing slow
on the bank of some old world
river or the shore of an ocean.
The two of us, dressed in linen,
our sandals in our hands, and
a quiet landing of stacked stone,
something worn and Roman.
You with your copy of Hemingway
or Herodotus, me with something
less daunting- Dickinson or
Whitman- a sense of self that is
very real and lost in the whole
as we pause at the lip of
nightfall’s ceramic home and
imagine ourselves dancing
like swirls of cinnamon and cardamom
across the foam that fades and fades.
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