I stray from the fire when the conversation
becomes predictable and wander to the cold
sandy beach of a small lake west of Dallas.
Tall, red blinking towers waltz in the fog, a muted
tune I’ve yet to put my finger on, and the water
reflects their dialogue undisturbed as planes
turn into position against the overcast backdrop.
I return to the night she sat behind the wheel,
changing into a small yellow concert t-shirt,
the blinking theater lights in the mirror.
She does this without trying to be revealing,
and we both pretend I’m not watching –
one shirt over the other, wrangling out of the
old for the new. I envy the one who asks for
directions, seeing it all for the first time.
Evening Panoply 