six o'clock now
we should be together
in some soft, quiet place
of maples unleafing onto the
blue blue sky.







six o'clock now
you should be parting the
hair off my face
with those eggshell-thin fingertips,
occasionally laying a kiss along the
fixed joint of my skull.

six o'clock now
I should be watching you
in the pale gray light
a line of white in a landscape
of black shadow.

six o'clock now
you should be holding my hand
in a grove of sycamores unleafing
and we should be -
we should be
listening to the breath of golden
autumn fading into
the darkening wood.