Here between the great false dawn of the reflected city
From our kitchen window—Friday night—
And the weedy dark of weekend’s oasis;
Here, our cool-cocktailed nights, between
The small truss of parenthetical sleep
Slept, naps napped, love made;
Here, within the grotto, the inlet, the sheltered rock ledge
Of an unanswered phone or your penciled list;
Here against swimming bits of television
Like the flat bright flash of tropical fish,
Between the magazine pages, the long slow novel,
Your face blue-bathed in tablet glow.
Here, within the bedclothes tent
Made by knees bent, from our morning reading,
Where the cat bivouacs and dreams of sleep.

Here, in the tracing made from the pillow creases on your cheek
And the weedy dark of overgrown desire;
Here, our emotional psychic sit-ins, amidst
The flares of physical pain
Felt, registered aches, knees and ankles,
fluids noted;
Here, beyond the pale, the dark, the dust,
The slow-running drains, the fast Saturdays;
Here, behind sudden clots of spontaneity
Like the soft quick plash of rain
Among the clicks and hashtags, the memes and dreams.

Here
Is where I
(All present and accounted for,
Being of sound mind and all,
Attest that the above information is okay
In the year two thousand and whatever,
Waiving all rights thereof to something
That I do not understand)
Love you.
Here. And here,
Too.