I’m sorry I don’t compare you to pretty things.

(tail lights, melting snow.

there is little time

and we are rushing

toward its end.)

 

here is what matters:

your ankles, your hair,

and the bridge of your nose.

trees with low branches.

the dishcloth, which is pink.

the t shirt you wore yesterday.

the space between our bodies.

malt, copper, limestone, salmon.

your face tight, laughing

and your fingers tapping circles

on my skin. a bridge

collapsing under high winds.

the space, the shrinking.

your frayed watch band.

your shoulders in a t shirt.