I never noticed, till today,
that curl of hair that
tucks itself, coiled
like a kitten,
into the curve of
his neck.
If anyone had asked me
this morning, before
that specific angle of his
head and that particular
ray of sunlight
revealed it to me,
I would have said
I know everything about him
This afternoon, though,
I spiral round the twist of
that troublesome curl,
trip, distracted, on a carpet edge,
grip at a windowsill
for balance.
And, looking out,
I am almost surprised
to find grass still green
and peonies
still crimson beside
the crumbling
stone wall.