Memories of nights, when afterwards
I walked through lilac-scent, and black-
bird melodies, are pewter in our silver-
ware, a nail that snags my socks; it’s
a nagging dream of another world where
I had stayed for breakfast, with another.
So let us polish pewter till it mimic silver,
pretend it’s choice, and not by chance
we share the silverware and nights.
May 27, 2016