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ambient
like waves in corners
like ripples in the lee
we pore across tables
islands buoyed upon graces

where are we streaming from?

these reliquaries
of flesh and bone
these uneasy havens
this night of saints
and then to delight
grab strands and threads
flex
to hang in conversation
in blackness
heavy cream and music

we strolled
gamboled intently
at each others borders
knowing the softness of truth
the malleability of love
the beauty of death
and this is the fragrance
of exquisite evenings
friends and friends
and pauses like flowers

~2000

*painting by Marc Chagall, 1926