For My Wife, On No Special Occasion


You know me well enough not to expect much

in the way of romantic notions,

even in a poem, where

such expectations can be high.

I won’t be saying that we are one

(how boring would that be).

Yet, on occasion, I am reminded of that

slow, thorough collision of galaxies

sometimes seen in deep space

where shapes are reshaped and reshaped again

and each reshaping reveals a sprinkling of

unexpected colors across the dark night sky.

More often though

I think of how our lives are now

so cross-referenced,

so cross-indexed,

that much can be unsaid, but understood,

even in a poem,

where expectations can be high.


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