Saturday, January 22, 2011

In Our Little Time

I remember the fog being soup
But comfy like that blanket we share on my couch
It made everything still and contemplative
Buildings and houses like solemn faces
Lining our parade through the town
Watching stoic and gray
You an Atheist and me a nonpracticing Catholic
Driving on God's blessed day of rest an hour before dawn
Yellow orange red green dots blurred in the soup
Everywhere hazy yet flickering like eyes
Like stars, like Christmas lights dropped and draped
Lazy and sleepy like our waking minds
The city quiet frozen dead except for the train
That halted us and made us a photograph
So we could look upon ourselves for a moment
And as the cars passed like an echo
I found your hand lighted by the dashboard
Blue and green and soft and timid
Our cigarette racing heartbeat masking
The heartbeat shadowy familiar
That brought to me Aristotle and his cave
Contemplative asking, "is this real?"
The sun will come and it will be a new day
A moment of hope on a Sunday
The worst of all days because it symbolizes end
I tell you how I hate goodbyes
But you are not a farewell
We have the reverberating day ahead
We have the promise felt and solidified
In the fog and quiet and the peace
Like so many echoes of the passing train
I'll see you again tomorrow
And tomorrow

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