Nobody's ever who they were
she wasn't . . . neither was he
Now, lifetimes later, over coffee
he slipped back in as if no time had passed
On a rise of returning bluestream
She curled into the threat of doing this again
luxuriating in someone else's dream
ready once more to believe him
Still, you'd think the Lord would be
a little more efficient
not just some Magic 8-ball
blowing this man back into her life
to and fro like a feather on the wind
She chattered away, whipsawed between
elation and guilt
no longer the capable woman she had
almost become
From her little mouth, useful in a pinch
a stream of unbelievingly meaningless crap
like Polynesian polkas, or something
He smiled, a bubble of cheerful attentiveness
riding her sentences, those box-car rhythms
the trick is to make yourself small and still
stillness was salutary, like most pain
So they settled into one another
easing into grooves worn wild with time
It was Nature's job to grow over,
turn the past into now
Nature? You might as well say Love
a Love so swarmingly wasteful
what it sells at a loss,
it makes up in volume
The new perishes before the old, though
with no transition save a jump cut
borne only by some trick of mental smoothing
They sat, trading a few last stalling phrases
reluctant to say goodbye
at last the coffee gave out,
along with their words
She couldn't see what she wasn't seeing
inside the mirror was the more likely
of the two unreachable places
a fingercuff that opens instantly,
if only she would stop pulling
You have to squint to tell the difference.