on a night such as this

 


books sitting on
the table.

I threaten to read
them,

but they just laugh
knowing it is a hollow
and meaningless
threat.

looking out the
window,

moon hanging in the
sanctuary of night
surrounded by acolytes
of stars,

and the sky is a
disciple of years
and memory.

reaching up, I touch
my face,

thinking of the
first time we
kissed.