Cylinder Four: Poem for L.W.

Some sticky caf’ of
laminated menus and
watercolours hiding
chipped paint

and you or i
or you and i
just after the
waitress left us—

You laughed and
that dimmed—a
damned lightbulb—
but I caught

your bottom
lip dry, hair
pristine,
and your

eyes immeasurable
insoluble & infinite—
didn’t mean to
all unexpected enough

to know you’re not
miserable all of the time.

March, 2011