Poem for an Interlude

The curtain drawn open
her eyes big as chandeliers,

a smile the length of a glance.
The space around her,

—fragile —

invaded by hummingbirds
telling her secrets — and you

tangled in advances and debts to the night,
and to chance, and to her
out stretched arms

and to her gaze
that does not belong to you — that is not yours,

except here
under a
waxing
moon,

by a drought
drawn lake.

Where you both have thrown the world at your feet
tired of trying to make

everything fit

and you chase each other naked
to the water’s edge, where a drunken moon

reels back
and forth between

stars and quaking
aspens.

and hard swoons
against the night sky.

Like she does against you.

And then the in-between

The in-between of then
and now

the days since then
all the after.

And now you find yourselves
nothing more than a tiny

number at the bottom

of a page;
a footnote ,

an explanation for the serious reader of how

Your names once sang
the moon to sleep, of how

Your names, from eager lips prayed
to be ransomed,

your names now nothing more
than names

listed kindly
and
alphabetically,

under the letters
L and O

in the index
of a forgotten
story.

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