remember
your room, four o'clock:
we lay in dim afterglow
dreaming of our future life.
remember
Highland Park, summer:
we sat in grassy twilight
drinking dry white wine.
remember
jazz club, off-night:
we sang through spotlit smoke
breathing in sparkling applause.
remember
your car, after hours:
we kissed under crisp starlight
dancing close then away.
remember
Crystal Cave, weekend:
we drove by dead reckoning
holding hands underground.
I close my eyes and I'm
dizzy
with heat.
I open my eyes and I'm
in bed
clutching the cat.
Waking: A Memoir of Trauma and Transcendence
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