It outlives our letters
simply there against
the thrashes of loneliness
among the check out counters,
wildly spaced
like the words in a diary.
At any moment,
it goes blindly into the living world,
slender, correct and then
vanishes like pleasure.
It is the neighbor of memory.
It is undependable like a relative.
It is cloaked in lucidity
or worn again and again
like a favorite coat,
we are embarrassed to voice it
in our short sleeves.
It fills the corner in light.
It is heavy like iron.
No one expects it.
It is not for government use
Sometimes it is a beautiful
knock on our door
in the evening with pizza.
It is vivid like the horizon
in Rhode Island.
Ah, my great love.
You are the sapling
that I am afraid to disturb.
You question me
about the weather
continuously
and I am always well
meaning but misguided.
There is something
purely green about you.
Like a seabed
you are abundant
and ready for company.
No one wants to extinguish you
you are attractive like
the unexpected,
which time and nature
has given a twilight hue
honestly for the better.
