For the Scrapbook

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To be taped into your mind’s photo album -
the two of us, forks and knives in hand,
knees brushing beneath the thick-woven tablecloth
draped over a sharp-cornered table
tucked by two great planes of glass.
The clouds devouring each other,
and a great smashing of light
falling over us like a breaker,
all the cutlery and napkins and hollandaise-ed eggs
bobbing like champagne bottles in water.
Catch the corners of this in black tape -
us two, bleached out of the city
in a sudden wide sea of light.





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