I love the bright umbrellas at bus stops, I
Adore the exact yellow of old school taxis. I hate
The way people never say hello, those
Noses stuck to phones like young poets.
Instead, I love the young who eat Italian ices, who
Kiss each other with sticky faces. I love a tell
Like in poker we catch sight of in life we say you
Revealed your heart’s intentions. I cannot say that
It is going to rain today. I love our daughters, they
Have grown so strong like the oak branches: I love
How tender men can be, & how strong women can grow, but
In the dark I love how your body finds mine never
Will we douse the light. Hands together you make
A votive candle. The small flame you tender, how slowly it
Burns the way a smoldering fire can clear
The brush controlled. I love the ash of address, for whom
Do I write this letter? For you & the old Russian women they
Walk slowly step by step, back stooped, arms locked as if in love.
