You’ll come murmuring fluent sounds
about how my heart, like a woman packing
a small suitcase in the dark planned this detour.
We’ll share the bread of memory on a shore
until dawn arrives like red-haired concubines
swaying in Solomon’s train.
Offering me your wing as if it’s an arm
you’ll request old coins I’ve trained
to perform flawless spirals for your amusement.
As the fire dies down with a sigh
of forgetfulness I won’t need my shoes,
nor the sound of your voice;
wading among reeds and night herons,
I’ll redeem the paper boat I crafted as a child,
its crayoned sail and matchstick oars trembling.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 1.