THINKING

She sits bent over on a step, writing in a notebook,
dark straight-cut hair half-falling over frown lines,
skirt riding up on neat legs, neither pretty nor plain,
just herself. And I think: We are living
in a steamy flat of hardwood floorboards,
it's a hot summer night, discontent in the air,
though we know it's temporary there's little
to do, see, or talk about. We haven't been married long,
perhaps aren't married at all. I'm slumped in an armchair,
watching as she moves restless, listless, from
one to another room as if wondering she's got
the right apartment for the life she's in.
I don't know this city's name, it could be somewhere else,
but she seems where she ought to be.
And I think: she's not at all like the person with whom I live.
And I think: but this is much the way I'm living now.

POST-COITIONAL TOPICS

Birds, the motions of their wings.

Flowers, the diagrams of their petals, how a pine cone is a primitive flower.

Insects, the more harmless varieties, the highly-coloured ones.

Light, how it falls, how it turns, how she looked before the fall.

Weather, a related topic. Waves.

How's odd to be together, gathered in shadows.

Philosophical topics. States of being.

That desire is an end in itself.

Happy homecomings. (Keep this abstract).

Breathing, the beating of hearts.

Stasis, rest.

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